


The fruit of our love

by A_fighter_like_Eowyn



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Abuse, Abused Jaskier | Dandelion, Angry Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Back Pain, Blackmail, Blood and Injury, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Breastfeeding, Brotherly Love, Childbirth, Comfort, Comfort Sex, Comfort/Angst, Crying, Crying Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Crying Jaskier | Dandelion, Danger, Dark Magic, Death Threats, Declarations Of Love, Difficult Pregnancy, Difficult childbirth, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Evil, Evil Plans, Falling In Love, Family Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Forehead Kisses, French Kissing, Friendship/Love, Gay Sex, Gentle Kissing, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Geraskier Fun Day (The Witcher), Geraskier Pride Week (The Witcher), Geraskier Week (The Witcher), Good Friend Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Good versus Evil, Guilt, Guilty Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Heartbreak, Heartbreaking, Heartbroken Jaskier | Dandelion, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied Mpreg, Injury, Injury Recovery, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Kissing, Labour pain, Love, Love Confessions, Love/Hate, M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Major Character Injury, Men Crying, Mild Smut, Miscarriage, Miscarriage Scare, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Neck Kissing, Non-Graphic Smut, Pain, Painful Pregnancy, Physical Abuse, Pining, Pining Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pining Jaskier | Dandelion, Post Mpreg, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Scares, Pregnant Jaskier | Dandelion, Pregnant Sex, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Psychological Torture, Romantic Fluff, Sex, Shame, Shower Sex, Sick Character, Sick Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sick Jaskier | Dandelion, Smut, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Suspense, Threats, Threats of Violence, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Torture, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, True Love, True Love's Kiss, Unrequited Love, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:29:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 83,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25653664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_fighter_like_Eowyn/pseuds/A_fighter_like_Eowyn
Summary: A tale of love, longing, suspense, dark magic and mysteries, betrayal, separation, reunion, childbirth and the journey to becoming parents - journey to becoming a family together...Upon the insistence of Yennefer, the court mage, King Stephen of Vengerberg requests Geralt of Rivia to take up a tenured position in his court. And that's where the Wolf becomes acquainted with the beautiful, sweet, loving Prince Julian Alfred Pankratz of Vengerberg, who likes to go by the name of Jaskier. And as their relationship blossoms into friendship, and perhaps something more, Geralt finds out about the child Jaskier is carrying inside him.Will Geralt come to love this child as his own? What if Destiny decides to test their love by throwing unforeseen hurdles on their paths? What if a web of terrible, dark sorcery is being woven around them both, slowly being tightened to smother them? Will the two lovers survive it together? Will Jaskier be able to give birth safe and sound to his child, with Geralt at his side? Will they have their happily ever after?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 323
Kudos: 131





	1. Meeting the sun, for the first time

**Author's Note:**

> I am assuming here that no sacking of Kaer Morhen took place by fanatics, so there are many, many, many Witchers around. I personally feel pain and sorrow when I think of Witchers brutally killed by zealots, and hence my fics tend to assume that such a thing never came to pass.
> 
> My fic also assumed that that Witchers are capable of procreation.
> 
> PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE KEEP YOUR ENCOURAGEMENT COMING !!

**Prologue:** It was a time when all across the Continent sprouted covert organizations and cults practicing forbidden, insidious dark magic of unchecked potential, and far more monsters than ever before prowled the wilderlands, the mountains, the lakes and the swamps. These monsters steadily grew more and more daring, venturing into cities, towns and villages for fresh preys, dragging off people and livestock, killing wantonly, making traveling even by daytime nigh inconceivable and proving almost all fortifications futile during the nights. It was a time when Witchers were in high demand, and there were plenty of them to answer the earnest calls of distress from the terrified people.

Most kingdoms started hiring Witchers for near-permanent positions in courts and as part of their garrisons. Those Witchers who deigned to take up these positions were held in high esteem, and given various titles, such as Wardens of the kingdom, or Sentinels, or Protectors of the people. The Witchers were aided in their tracking and slaying of monsters by court mages, who themselves fought off wielders of inimical dark magic.

It was an age when the tales of men choosing to bear children were not unheard of, and in fact, were quite common, especially when the men in question had access to help provided by sorcerers or sorceresses. The subtle and skillfully woven magical spells, along with a myriad of potions and of course, the compelling desire to bear the fruit of their partners' love aided the men's bodies to undergo gradual transformation until they became viable enough for pregnancies. However, these pregnancies usually proved to be far more difficult and painful than the ones that occurred naturally in the wombs of women.

********************************************************************************************

From the moment he had set foot in Vengerberg, Geralt had felt how different this kingdom was in his very bones.

For starters, the common people looked rather well-fed and cleaner, with hardly any beggars to be seen, the markets stocked up with plenty of fruits, vegetables, milk and cheese, kippered fish, fresh and dried meat, roads and lanes well-paved and free of mud and dirt, huts and cottages built stoutly and in an organized pattern. Everyone seemed busy, everyone seemed employed. And everyone seemed to be smiling, even though these were troubled times. Everywhere else that Geralt had been to, he had seen only scared, despondent expressions on dirt-smudged faces, scrawny and malnourished commoners and sickly children whose ribs showed. 

But then, his best friend Yennefer had written about this aspect of Vengerberg in the letters she had sent him.

King Stephen and Queen Parveen were rather unusual rulers. Unlike their counterparts elsewhere, they actually cared about their subjects, were kind to everyone, tried their best to help the poor even if it meant a strain on the royal coffers, gave out meals on a regular basis, ran schools to educate the children of the destitute.

And now, upon the insistence of Yennefer, they had written to Vesemir, the senior-most Witcher of the School of the Wolf, requesting him that Geralt of Rivia be spared for taking up the tenured position of the Sentinel Against Evil in their court. Along with bringing a few more of his Witcher brothers in tow.

Vesemir apparently was a friend of King Stephen (a fact Geralt had had no idea about, but the Old Wolf was the most taciturn of the lot, so it wasn't surprising), and he had readily agreed. And Geralt had been secretly quite delighted - the position was a highly coveted one, the pay would be good, and above all, he would get to spend time with his closest and dearly missed friend.

So here he was.

The moment he had set foot in the royal premises, he had known he would get a rather warm welcome. Guards had run inside to inform the king, and a moment later, Yennefer and King Stephen himself were seen coming out the ornate double oak doors of the palace, the king's hands extended in front of him in a gesture of welcome.

"Sir Geralt of Rivia! What a pleasure!"

Geralt bowed awkwardly and Yennefer rolled her eyes despite the huge beaming smile lighting up her face. Typical Geralt, not knowing the first thing about court etiquette.

"Just Geralt, Your Highness."

"Of course, son!", boomed the king, and Geralt looked up startled at the easy endearment, "Do come in. This is your home now. Please, come in, come in."

He had been ushered in with a retinue and his own Witcher brothers in tow, Eskel and Lambert flagging him closely and looking as bemused as Geralt himself, until they had reached the meeting hall reserved for people of great honour and importance.

They spent several minutes exchanging greetings and pleasantries, introducing each other, and talking about the general state of things, especially with regard to the attacks of monsters and dark mages upon Vengerberg. But soon, the throne at the head of the huge oak table was pushed back, scraping against the marble floor, as the king stood up.

"Geralt, son, you and your brothers must be tired. I shall encumber you no more with all the grim details. Besides, all the information is available in the royal records in this room, and you all are welcome to come in here anytime to take a look at them. My men will show you to your chambers. Please make yourselves at home. Lunch will be served there, but tonight, all of us will dine together. Yen, how does that sound, daughter?"

Geralt, before he could answer or express his gratitude, looked at the old king with astonishment in his eyes - apart from Vesemir, nobody had ever addressed a sorceress as intimidating and domineering as Yennefer as a daughter. At least, that was what he had known. Apparently, he had been mistaken, and now his curiosity and interest in getting to know this particular royal family piqued.

"I think it sounds amazing, Baba", said Yen with an endearing smile, and all three of Geralt, Eskel and Lambert gawked at her with disbelieving eyes.

It was Yennefer who showed them to their rather capacious and soberly yet tastefully furnished chambers, and before she left, she hugged each of them, then wrinkled her nose and ordered them to make good use of the hot baths that were being drawn up for them by the servants. 

"And dress properly for dinner, you dolts", she threw her three friends and brothers a mock glare before disappearing in a swish of skirts.

**********************************************************************************************

After a rather scrumptious and filling lunch, Geralt decided he wanted to take a stroll around the palace, so as to acclimatize himself with the place he was now sworn to protect. Lambert and Eskel waved him off, preferring to spend the afternoon taking naps.

Geralt exited the suite they had been given, and not knowing which direction to explore, just struck off along a random corridor, only to find himself, a few minutes later, coming out to stand in an absolutely breathtaking terrace-garden, adorned with row upon row of vibrant flower plants and small plants bearing colourful fruits. Birds nested all around, feasting on the nectar of the flowers, poking their beaks inside the dangling bird-feeders and filling up the air with their incessant chirping and warbling.

Geralt felt lighter and happier than he had in a very long time. Quickly making sure that he was alone, he extended his arms out and inhaled deeply in the aroma of the flowers and the clean, fresh air, his eyes closed, his head thrown back.

And thus it was that when he opened his eyes a few seconds later, his head still tilted up, his gaze fell upon the balcony above him that overlooked the terrace he stood upon ...

_... and for the first time, Geralt of Rivia beheld, against the backdrop of a deep azure sky lit up with the bright spring sunshine, leaning against the balustrade and looking straight at him ..._

_... Prince Julian of Vengerberg._

And for some reason, the Witcher's impossibly slow heartbeat hastened just a wee bit, and his stomach just did the tiniest possible back-flip, and his eyes widened a fraction of their own accord.

And he felt like he had never set his eyes on someone with quite that dazzling a smile. 

_A smile that instantly lit up his own, usually rather drab and bleak, world._

"Are you our new Sentinel? The incredible, the legendary Sir Geralt of Rivia?!"

The sound of that voice wafting into Geralt's ears felt like the trill of a lark, and the tone was suffused with infectious joy and utter awe.

_How could someone sound quite that happy?_

_Especially when speaking to a Witcher - a mutant who was regarded with suspicion, mistrust, even hatred and abhorrence by almost every single human?_

Geralt shook himself out of his buzzing thoughts. "I am."

"Oh! It is so good to meet you. Hold on", and the bright face vanished behind the balustrade, only to be followed by the sound of footsteps descending down some out-of-sight staircase, and a few seconds later, the prince walked out onto the terrace, and Geralt felt like ...

_.. like the sun himself had come out to greet him!_

"I am Julian", the man in front of Geralt chimed happily, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet, "But I like being called by my nickname, Jaskier."

Geralt recalled the names of the members of the royal family that Yennefer had mentioned in the letter, and immediately sank into a deep bow (wondering to himself why he had done no such thing when he had met King Stephen). "Your Highness!"

"No! None of that! We here hate standing on ceremony. Royal titles are _boriiiing_ ", Julian beamed even more brightly at the bewildered Witcher, "Please, call me Jaskier."

"But ..."

"Or I'll be very upset, and it is not good to upset your prince on your very first day of appointment, good sir", the prince winked cheekily.

Geralt shook his head, unable to help the smile now spreading across his own face.

"Very well, Jaskier. It will be as you wish."

"Awesome", the young man clapped his hands, "May I show you around?"

"That will be delightful, Your Hi... Jaskier."

"Good."

They started with the very terrace they stood on, with Jaskier babbling to Geralt excitedly about the flowers and fruits he and the royal gardeners had planted together there and in many other corners of the palace, and pointing out the many notable buildings and towers, with their tall spires and domes visible from the terrace, stating their names and functions. They then strolled through the halls and corridors inside the palace, pausing at the vast armoury, the refectory where all the employees of the palace ate, the solars, a quick peek into the pantry, and several more terrace-gardens and balconies commanding a panoramic view of the city. All the time, Jaskier chattered along, heaping Geralt with information and trivia, which the White Wolf accepted with a near-constant smile on his usually dour face and a soft look in his eyes, politely asking questions and replying with much more enthusiasm than his usual grunts and growls and monosyllabic, curt answers.

Inwardly, he couldn't help but wonder how this young, vivacious prince had managed to change Geralt's usually surly and brusque demeanour in such a short time and so effortlessly.

_Vesemir and Eskel would be so amused, and Lambert would think me soft!_

At last, the two companions came to stand in front of a slightly ajar pair of deep-brown oak doors.

"And this", Jaskier announced, positively radiant, "Is my favourite place in the entire palace!"

Geralt smiled at him indulgently, and raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?"

"Yes! This is the library, and mind you, it's the best library in Vengerberg! I even think this library could surpass the Great Library of Oxenfurt where I attended university!"

"Do you come here often, Jaskier?"

"Every single day. And spend hours studying and reading. Until, of course, Old Neville throws me out", and the prince pouted so adorably that Geralt couldn't help but chuckle.

"And it's a damn right thing I do", declared a slightly wheezing voice that was soon followed by a wizened old man, stooped with age, tottering out of those doors, "Sir Geralt! Most welcome!", and he bowed even lower, nearly sweeping the ground with his nose.

"Sir Neville", Geralt inclined his head, the smile still stuck to his face.

"Feel free to come here and read, good sir", said the old librarian, "I would be glad to have a second pair of eyes watching over this brat here", he gestured at Jaskier, who stuttered in mock indignation.

"That's treason right there, you old sod! Calling me a brat!"

"If your father were to hear that I called you a brat and you called me an old sod, which one of us do you think would be in trouble?", the gap-toothed old librarian asked testily, and Geralt couldn't help his laughter as Jaskier positively deflated.

"Fine", he pouted again, "Please don't tell Baba, old man?"

Neville waved away the young prince. "Off you go, and make sure you return those darned books you sneaked past me two weeks back. And take good care of our Sentinel, will you?"

And as they turned and headed back towards the palace suites, Geralt felt his heart lift inexplicably, even as his mind eased with the new conviction that this royal family, after all, was unlike any other - a total aberration, and in a very, very good way.

*********************************************************************************************

They turned a corner, and Jaskier said, "Here you are, Geralt. My rooms are a bit farther down this corridor."

"Thank you, Jaskier, for the tour", Geralt said with more sincerity in his voice than he had thought would be possible to muster.

"Trust me, the pleasure and honour were all mine. Now, you are coming down for dinner tonight, right?"

"I am."

"So, I shall see you there?"

"You will."

With that Geralt turned, his face lit up in a smile wider than any he could remember for the last several years. And he realized, with amazement, that he was indeed looking forward to dinner, despite how reputed he was of looking down with disdain and contempt upon most social gatherings and merriment.

"Oh and Geralt?"

"Yes, Jaskier?"

"I can't wait for you to meet the queen!"


	2. Something's up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, second chapter here :-) I am keeping the chapters short, so that I don't end up including too many incidents / developments in a single one of them LOL. Hopefully you will enjoy this one, and the third one will be coming soon! PLEASE REVIEW!!

Geralt donned the cleanest shirt and breeches he had, along with a short coat of stout teal-blue wool that came down to his waist. The coat nicely contrasted with the silver-grey hue of the shirt and the dark brown of the breeches. He even carefully braided his hair, letting the long gossamer strands cascade down on either side of his face, framing it beautifully.

Of course, Eskel sniggered and Lambert raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Whatever's gotten into you?"

Geralt shrugged. "Yen will kill us otherwise. You know how she is. Just dress up as best as you can."

Lambert had grunted, but in the end, the apprehension of facing Yen's ire and razor-sharp rebukes had made both Geralt's Witcher brothers to follow suit and put on their best clothes.

They were soon led to the private dining hall of the royal family, where King Stephen already sat at the head of the long dark mahogany table, flanked on one side by an immaculately dressed Yennefer and on the other by a woman who, Geralt guessed, could only be the queen.

"Geralt, Eskel, Lambert, come on in, sons!", the king boomed with his usual enthusiasm and a big smile, "Come, sit here, all of you, and meet my queen!"

The woman by his side, Queen Parveen, turned to the three Witchers with a dazzling smile of her own, and stood up, holding out her hands.

"Oh it is good to meet you three sweeties!"

Lambert stared at her incredulously, and Eskel and Geralt tried to keep their expressions smooth, smothering the surprised but fond chuckles that were about to escape them.

_Who on earth referred to three weather-worn, monster-slaying, dour-faced and grim Witchers such as themselves as "sweeties"?!_

Geralt knew he ought not be surprised - this family was highly unusual. And he could tell that Jaskier had inherited that disarming smile of his from his mother.

As if on cue, in answer to his wandering thoughts, the doors opened and in walked Jaskier, all radiant and resplendent in a simple yet elegant knee-length burgundy tunic with thin stripes of rose-gold over a pair of snug navy-blue leggings.

Geralt's eyes were immediately captivated by how fetching the prince looked in those colours, and how well they emphasized the vivid cornflower-blue of his eyes. He realized that perhaps he had let his eyes rest on the happily beaming prince a few seconds longer than what could be strictly called polite perusal, and hastily looked away, only to find himself being ushered forward by Eskel to greet the queen.

All three Witchers sank into a low bow, and each took the queen's gloved hand to press a kiss on her knuckles. The queen, however, shooed away such formal court etiquette and simply clasped each of their hands warmly in her own dainty ones, and in case of Geralt, cupped his face in her palms and said, "I am so glad you three are here. So happy you accepted this position, son."

Geralt tried to blink past the feeling of being utterly mystified by how easily this royal family was coming to accept the three Witcher brothers as their very own people. If he hadn't known better, especially thanks to the king himself being a friend of Vesemir's, he would even have been mildly suspicious of such endlessly kind gestures.

"Your Highness", he made himself speak, trying to shake off the daze of his befuddled mind, "The honour is all mine, I assure you."

"No no, don't stand on ceremony, son", Queen Parveen said, lightly placing her hand on Geralt's head in a motherly gesture, "All three of you must call me Ma. Everyone around here does."

"That's it, Geralt, Eskel, Lambert - welcome to your new family - you have just officially been adopted by Ma", Jaskier piped up, sniggering mischievously, and the queen fixed him with a mock glare.

And Geralt - forever the little boy who had been abandoned at a tender age by the very sorceress mother who had meant the whole world to him, at the doorsteps of Kaer Morhen, to be raised a Witcher by Vesemir - tried to swallow past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. So many decades had been spent nursing a deep, deep grievance inside the secret recesses of his heart - an unspoken sorrow, an unrelieved ache, that was allowed to fester and necrotize - never being able to stop his mind from wondering feverishly whether Visenna really could be so cruel and heartless, whether she knew before she let him go that he might not make it, might not be among the three out of every ten boys who managed to survive the Trials of Witcher-training. And now, without having to ask, without putting in any effort, he was being offered the love and warmth of a mother - albeit not his own - with an open, honest and kind smile. He was being offered an entire family. He and his brothers were not only not being considered mutant freaks and outcasts, they were being unhesitatingly welcomed into the security, the support, the loving embrace of a new family. Just like that - no questions asked. And he honestly didn't know how to react.

He was saved from the trouble of having to express his gratitude (though that alone could certainly not sum up the strange concoction of emotions he could feel stirring in his chest) by the queen herself pulling him down to the seat next to her, and the king asking the equally dumbfounded Eskel and Lambert to take up the two seats to the left of Geralt. Jaskier plopped down on the seat next to Yennefer, and picked up a glass of red wine.

"To the newly adopted pups!", he announced happily, "First came I, then came Yen, and now you three", and he giggled again.

Yennefer threw Jaskier a look, and before he could so much as bring the glass to his lips, she snatched it away from his grasp, and the queen spoke up almost at the same instant.

"Jaskier!", the tone was unmistakably that of admonishment.

Jaskier's slightly confused eyes swiveled from his mother to his father to Yennefer, and seeing the disapproving scowl on his adopted sister's face, he suddenly recalled something and gulped.

"Ah, yes, right. Sorry."

The three Witchers were observing this exchange curiously. Eskel was the first to recover and avert his eyes to his plate with a smile, Geralt arched an eyebrow, and Lambert, ever the tactless and utterly blunt Wolf, simply asked, "You aren't allowed to drink?"

"Jaskier here does not like alcohol, do you, Jask?", Yen clarified in a tone that seemed to challenge Jaskier to argue back, as she glared mutinously at the suddenly sheepish and blushing prince next to her.

 _This was getting more and more curious,_ Geralt couldn't help thinking as he narrowed his eyes and observed the flustered prince sitting directly in front of him across the table. 

"Ah, ye-yes, of course! I absolutely a-abhor alcoholic drinks", Jaskier stammered.

Lambert's eyes widened slightly, but he did not ask to elaborate. Yennefer brusquely summoned a servant and ordered him to bring Jaskier a glass of fresh orange juice.

"And make sure Prince Julian isn't served alcohol from now on. It doesn't sit well with his system anymore."

And as Geralt turned his piercing gaze upon his best friend and Yennefer's eyes met his own, she squirmed slightly and looked away, deliberately engaging the king in some trifling conversation.

_Hmm, the royal palace of Vengerberg was proving to be a rather fascinating place to be!_


	3. Why does my heart worry for you so?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get a glimpse into the relationship between Jaskier and Yennefer, and perhaps you can guess a "small" secret they are sharing with each other? And I hope you like the bonding that begins between our darling idiots - Geralt and Jaskier - over a lovely breakfast :-) PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW AND KEEP THE ENCOURAGEMENT COMING :-D

That night, Geralt, Eskel and Lambert went out with the king himself and the chief of his guard, along with Yennefer and Vengerberg's commander of infantry, patrolling the various streets, lanes and alleys of the city, especially those close to the city's outermost ramparts. The city was quite well fortified, but monsters nevertheless found a way to sneak in wherever the magical wards faltered the slightest bit. Over the past couple of months, many of the soldiers who used to stand vigil on the outermost bastions had been ruthlessly slain. Dark mages were constantly pushing at the city's physical and magical barricades, testing their limits and never failing to take advantage of any weakness.

"I believe we can chalk up an organized plan on how best to guard the city. Each of us three would be out patrolling every night", Geralt found himself reassuring the king.

"And I shall be aiding in whatever ways Geralt thinks I can", added Yennefer.

"But", the king looked unconvinced, "Will you three really be okay spending every night sleepless, son?"

The three Witchers couldn't help the fond chuckles for the dear old king. "Do not worry, Your Highness, this is what our job constitutes. We shall rest up during the day", Eskel explained, his smile soft.

"But you mustn't split up", the king urged, "Even more than the monsters, I am perturbed by the tales I hear of these dark sorcerers and sorceresses. They are the ones who either conjure the demons, or else control them by some means. And they show no mercy to anyone in their paths."

"Baba", Yen placed a reassuring hand on the king's arm, "My brothers know what they are doing. They have done this for decades, and they are three of the best in their profession. And like I said, I shall be there to help and protect them however I can. And now don't start worrying about me", she added, an endearing smile on her face.

The king still looked anxious, but let it pass. The rest of the group made their way back to the palace as the Witchers stayed behind, taking up positions in the south, east and west of the city (the northern walls had seen relatively fewer instances of breaching and attacks), prowling the outskirts, their amber eyes glowing eerily in the dark, ever alert of unforeseen enemies.

************************************************************************************

Yennefer tiredly rubbed her face even as she bid the king goodnight and headed down the corridor leading to her luxurious living quarters (given how high maintenance the sorceress was, she suspected her chambers were considerably more opulently furnished than those of even the queen herself). It had been a long day, and happy as she was that her best friend and Witcher brothers were finally here, there was also the niggling worry for their safety despite the protective spells she had cast upon them.

Before she could set foot inside her chambers, however, she came face to face with an unlikely visitor, waiting right in front of her door, tapping his feet impatiently and looking around nervously.

"Jask?"

"Yen", the prince greeted her in a hushed voice as the palace was now very quiet and everyone else sound asleep, "Sorry, I just had to see you. Are they ... did you leave them behind?"

"Whom?", Yen's mind felt sluggish and confused from the exhaustion, and she really, badly, needed some sleep before she could face the next day.

"Geralt and his brothers. Do you think he'll be ... I mean, that they'll be fine?", the prince nervously wrung his hands, looking anywhere but at his adopted sister.

Yennefer raised an eyebrow, then placing her fingers underneath Jaskier's chin, forced him to look into her eyes.

"You're worried for him."

It wasn't a question. Nor was there any need to name the "him" whom they were talking about.

Jaskier hung his head, looking suddenly very wretched and ashamed, his lips turned down in a pained frown.

"I know I shouldn't ... I know it's too soon ... but I ... he's just a ..."

"A friend?", Yen asked, a knowing and rather kindly smile on her lips, "Jask, you have known him for less than twenty-four hours, brother."

Jaskier had no answer to that.

"And as for it being too soon", she continued, now cupping his cheek with her palm, "I don't think so at all. You have hurt enough, dear brother. Shed enough tears for someone who didn't deserve even a fraction of your heart in the first place. Not only do I believe it is _high_ time you moved on, but that _both_ of you need to find someone who would stand by your side, love you with all their heart, for as long as you live."

And with that, the sorceress reached out and placed her other palm on Jaskier's belly, caressing slightly. The prince coloured, but couldn't help the small, hopeful smile on his face.

"So, you aren't judging me?"

"Jask, I think you know full well how precious you are to me, and all I want is for you to be happy, brother."

"Yes but ... he is your best friend."

"Which is precisely why I know how steadfastly loyal and loving a man he can be, Jask. And nobody's going to be happier than me if this does take a turn for ... you know ...", she trailed off, winking at the prince, who giggled.

"Do you think he ..."

"No", Yennefer shook her head, "Not yet. He likes your personality, is already intrigued by you - I can tell. But I cannot yet say much more, Jask. These things ... they need time, and you need to be patient. Not one of your strong suits, Jask, but you have to try."

And Jaskier covered the delicate palm still firmly but lovingly pressed to his belly with his own hand. "I promise I'll be patient, and I'll be my best, most charming self."

"You don't have to try to be anything other than what you already are, Jask", Yen said, looking him straight in the eye to let the words sink in, "You are already amazing, and you are already enough. Let no one tell you otherwise."

*************************************************************************************

The Witchers came back to the palace around five'o'clock in the morning. Dawn was breaking outside, and the eastern horizon was awash in a lovely rosy glow. None of the three brothers wasted any time in stripping off their armour and their clothes, shuffling underneath the warm cover of the soft, plush wool blankets and promptly falling asleep.

Geralt woke to the sound of a gentle knock on the door. His Witcher senses told him it could not be later than a few minutes past eight'o'clock. Squinting against the bright sunlight that was streaming through the open windows and the fluttering curtains, he groggily got off the bed and made his way to the door while wrapping himself up in a downy nightgown. He made a mental note to ask whichever servant had been appointed to attend to them that he or she bring as late a breakfast as possible to their doors. 

But when he opened the door, it wasn't a servant whom he found waiting outside.

It was Jaskier.

The prince clearly had not been long awake, if his ridiculous bedhead was anything to go by. He was dressed in a comfortable and airy cotton shirt, worn thin from use, and baggy trousers, and hugged himself against the slight morning chill. With his eyes still slightly swollen from last night's sleep, and his lips plump and red like the palest pomegranate jewels, and his young, beautiful face framed by the chestnut-brown hair sticking out at odd angles, Geralt thought the prince looked utterly, impossibly adorable.

_Like a soft, sweet, precious doll. Waiting to snuggle into a tight embrace, to be cuddled, to have those deliciously full lips snatched up in a deep kiss..._

Geralt shook his head like a puppy getting rid of irksome water droplets clinging to its fur.

"Geralt! Goo-good morning! Sorry, I was ... I have been so worried ... last night was ... there was no trouble, right?", Jaskier's eyes were wide with concern for the Witcher's well-being, and Geralt felt it made him look even more endearing.

"Jaskier", the White Wolf could not help the way his voice became soft and much deeper than usual, "I am fine. We are all fine. Nothing bad happened during the night."

"Oh good", the prince actually heaved an enormous sigh, "I was so worried ... anyway, stupid of me. I mean, you all are such brave men, such skilled fighters ...", he trailed off, fidgeting awkwardly, "I ... I should probably let you sleep, Geralt. So sorry I woke you up so soon ... I just had to make sure ..."

"That I am okay", Geralt finished for him, his gold eyes holding Jaskier's cornflower-blue ones in a riveting gaze the prince was unable to tear himself from, "Come in, Jaskier."

"N-no, no no, you should rest ..."

"I won't be going back to sleep. I have to go down to tend to Roach soon, anyway. Please, Jaskier, come in."

"Oh, okay", and Jaskier's anxious expression gave way to his first smile of the day, and Geralt felt like his own, personal, sun started shining, his brilliance and warmth instantly banishing all darkness and tiredness from the Witcher's mind.

Turning around, Jaskier revealed the small trolley that had so far been concealed behind him. Atop it sat a huge tray laden with bowls and plates and cups and pots, all covered, but all unmistakably containing sumptuous breakfast fare that Geralt could smell. In spite of himself, the Witcher inhaled deeply, and his stomach grumbled.

"That's it, you're hungry. I brought breakfast. We are going to eat together."

And with that, Jaskier pushed the trolley into the room, past the side of the Witcher who followed every movement of the prince with his eyes, a fond smile gracing his lips unbeknownst to him.

They sat side by side on the bed, not bothering to use the table and the couple of chairs provided at one corner of the room, their legs tucked in underneath the coverlets. Jaskier started opening the lids, revealing freshly baked, warm loaves of fine bread, wedges of soft and hard cheeses of various kinds, fresh fruits and dried persimmons, slices of ham and sizzling sausages, and a steaming pot of strongly brewed tea alongside milk and sugar.

"Oh wow!", Geralt couldn't help the exclamation falling from his lips.

"Is this enough? I could get more if you want ..."

"Trust me, when I lived my life on the Path, I used to survive on less than half this quantity of food for one whole day, on an average."

Whatever possible reactions to this comment Geralt's mind could have prepared him for, the one he received from the prince was not one of them. 

Jaskier's face crumpled in an expression of pain and sympathy, as he looked at Geralt like the Witcher was the most precious, most fragile thing he had ever beheld, and said in a soft voice, "It was really hard, na? Having to travel so far from home - from Kaer Morhen - for work?"

Geralt didn't know what to say. After all this time, after all the suspicious, hateful, disgusted glances sent his way, all the times he had been turned away from inns, sore and tired, because of the villagers considering him a freak - an abomination spawned of evil magic - all the times he had been pelted with stones or threatened with murder as reward for his services - the poor, weary, disheartened Witcher just didn't know how he was supposed to receive all the love, compassion and understanding he was receiving from this particular royal family.

"Did you travel all alone, Geralt?", Jaskier, oblivious to Geralt's poignant silence, continued, "Did the villagers and townspeople pay you well? Did they treat you civilly? I have heard my professors at Oxenfurt speak of how cruelly and unfairly Witchers are treated in many parts of the Continent."

"The world is a cruel and unfair place, Jaskier", Geralt sighed.

Jaskier's eyes lit up with a fire that Geralt could never have guessed simmered inside the young, carefree, joyful prince's heart. "That is no excuse, Geralt", he said, his tone firm and his expression angry, "No one should ever treat anyone else cruelly, least of all a Witcher - someone who has dedicated his entire life to helping people by eliminating monsters!"

"It's hardly as romantic as all that", Geralt said, a rueful smile appearing on his face.

"I am not being romantic, Geralt, I am just stating the truth. You and all your brothers and peers are incredibly noble people. Incredibly, unbelievably brave. You do more for us who are defenseless against monsters and dark creatures than anyone else - even more than mages like Yen, and I say that knowing full well how indispensable my dear sorceress sister is for this kingdom."

"Becoming a Witcher was not really a choice for any of us, Jaskier", Geralt tried again, despite his heart swelling with affection for the young, and now slightly agitated, prince in front of him, "We were made to go through mutating procedures. It's not like we are the proverbial white knights in shining armour, dashing to the aid of civilians beset with monsters."

"While it may be true that becoming a mutant was not your choice, Geralt", the prince said testily, not missing a beat and not at all fazed by Geralt's comeback, "It was still your choice to _pursue_ this profession, was it not? You could have chosen a different life - you could have learned how to farm and raise crops and livestock, and settled down in some far-off village, and led a life of peace and quiet, yes?"

Geralt was thrown off balance by this comment. He had never thought of things this way, and he stared at Jaskier with his mouth hanging slightly open. The prince, in turn, eyed his companion's perplexed and disconcerted expression and gave a satisfied nod, as if he had just won this verbal battle.

"That's settled, then. You deserve much, much better than how ignorant, parochial idiots have treated you so far. And while you are here, which I hope is going to be a very, very long time", the prince smiled at Geralt, and the Witcher noticed, with his heart skipping a beat, the shy blush on that dear face, "I am ... I mean, all of us are going to make sure you are pampered as much as possible."

Geralt just could not help it anymore. His hand automatically reached out and softly brushed Jaskier's arm. It was immediately pulled back, but in that small gesture, the Witcher tried to pour forth all the things he could not say - all the things that the longs years of being so reticent and reclusive prevented him from saying out loud.

And judging by the way Jaskier's breath hitched when Geralt's fingers softly caressed his arm through the thin fabric of his shirt, and the way the blush deepened on his face, the prince understood, at least to some extent, all the things the Witcher tried to express through that one tiny gesture of endearment.

_Blushing becomes you, my dear prince - mused Geralt as he watched the man in front of him through hooded eyes._

_Especially when you blush because of me ... because of my touch._

The lovely prince cleared his throat, but the shy smile remained on his lips. "Shall we?"

"I can't wait to dig in."

"Awesome! Oh and I was wondering ... when you go down to tend to Roach, may I come with you? It was lovely listening to you talk about her yesterday. I would love to meet her!"

"Of course!"


	4. What secret are you keeping from me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah ha! So now, Geralt for the first time, is _suspicious_ of Jaskier. Why? Well, read on!! And please, please review :-D

Once breakfast was over, they set out from Geralt's room, leaving the trolley on one side of the corridor to be picked up by some passing maid.

Geralt winced the moment the blindingly bright sunshine hit him square in the eyes as they set foot outside the palace building.

"Geralt, you alright?"

"Yeah", the Witcher said quickly, while shielding his eyes against the glare with his hand, "It's just too bright and I have a headache building up."

"Oh no!", Jaskier sounded distressed, "I ought to have known. Tomorrow onward, I can bring lots of crushed ginger and lemon and honey to go with your tea. That would soothe the headache."

"Jaskier ...", was all Geralt could say in his deep rumbling voice, as he reached out and briefly squeezed the prince's hand in his own before letting go. Jaskier coloured immediately, and smiled.

"You, uh, you won't mind if I bring you breakfast ... um ... every morning, would you?"

Jaskier's voice was tremulous, and it held such a soul-stirring mixture of nervousness and hesitation, of fear of rejection and cautious hope for an affirmative answer, that Geralt's heart yearned to comfort the young prince in front of him, to hold him close and reassure him.

"Jaskier", Geralt tried to articulate every syllable he spoke, "I would _love_ it if you deign to have breakfast with me every morning."

Geralt had learned over the last few years, bit by painstaking bit, from Yennefer and from his other sorceress friend Triss, and his far more emotionally mature Witcher brother Eskel, how important words, gestures and actions were in nurturing and conducting any relationship. How it was not enough to brood, to be continually taciturn and glum, to respond with grunts and monosyllabic answers, to express himself through "hmm"s deep in his throat and non-committal shrugs. Yen had repeatedly emphasized to him how, if he truly cared, if he truly thought a relationship to be important enough, it was worth it to put in his efforts to vocalize his thoughts and feelings. 

_And this ... whatever this was between him and Jaskier ... was important to him._

_Somehow, his heart was sure of it. And he had no idea how._

Jaskier's face split into a smile so radiant, so incandescent with joy and affection, that Geralt felt like the prince was surrounded by a halo, and its brightness slammed into Geralt's heart.

"Thank you! I'm going to look forward to breakfast every day now!"

They had reached the stables by then, and the two companions now walked up to the stall where Roach stood tethered.

The mare immediately took to Jaskier, much to Geralt's surprise, and the prince caressed Roach's beautiful dark-brown mane while she nuzzled his face, whinnying happily.

"She likes you!"

"She does!", exclaimed Jaskier, and immediately started giggling, "Oh it tickles! Your mane's tickling me, Roachie!"

Geralt couldn't help the grin spreading across his face. He rummaged in the saddlebag that lay to one side of the stall and brought out a brush.

"Would you like to brush her mane, Jaskier?"

"Oh yes! I would love that!", the prince chirped excitedly.

And as Jaskier took the proffered brush and started gingerly brushing through Roach's mane while the mare stood patiently, Geralt came to stand behind the prince.

_He wasn't sure what made him do what he did next._

_Reaching up, he placed his hand on top of Jaskier's - the one that held the brush - and clasped it gently yet firmly._

_And both men felt their hearts stutter._

"May I guide you? She likes to be brushed when the strokes are long and angled ... like so."

_And slowly but assertively, the White Wolf's hand guided the prince's hand, the soft bristles of the brush smoothly parting the mane in long, confident strokes._

_And as they continued, Geralt moved just a fraction of a step forward, and Jaskier shifted backward almost imperceptibly, and so they stood ..._

_... Jaskier's back pressed to Geralt's chest, almost melding together, as their breaths came more rapid than they had done a moment before._

Geralt couldn't help himself. He breathed deeply in the lovely scent of chamomile and honey and something distinctly floral, like dandelions and pink sweet peas - the scent of Jaskier.

_A scent he would never forget again. A scent to remain etched in his memory forevermore._

************************************************************************************************

Once they had brushed Roach, and the two of them had massaged her down and refilled her water bowl and haystack, they strolled out into the sun again. Jaskier promised that the next day, he would bring Geralt a wide-brimmed hat he had purchased on one of his many journeys to Oxenfurt, claiming that the White Wolf would look "magnificent" in it.

Jaskier led them along a lovely cobbled path, with grasses poking their heads through the many gaps in the stone, until they stood side by side on a balcony, looking like a small outcrop of rock far above the lower levels where the stable was located. A huge cherry tree and an equally lofty magnolia tree stood like sentinels on either side of the balcony, and the stone underneath their feet was covered in moss and tufts of grass. The kingdom sprawled out in front of them, as far as eyes could reach. 

It was spring, and both trees were in bloom. The whole place was redolent with the aroma of the fluffy white cherry blossoms and the deep pink magnolia flowers. The two companions inhaled deeply, and Geralt noticed how, despite the other fragrances present in the air around him, it was Jaskier's scent that seemed the sweetest, the most intoxicating to him.

A gust of wind blew - although the sun was now high in the sky and rather fierce, the air still had a bit of a nip. Jaskier, who wore nothing but his shirt and trousers, unlike Geralt who sported his cloak, hugged himself unconsciously and shivered.

Without thinking, Geralt doffed his cloak off his shoulders and flung it around Jaskier's smaller frame, taking care to envelope the prince securely in the stout woolen fabric, and rested an arm around his shoulder for good measure.

Jaskier, he could feel, was breathing rather fast and shallowly now, and Geralt knew he was not imagining the blush that was creeping up that pale, beautiful neck.

_Oh, how I wish could get used to watching you blush just so, my dear prince!_

They stood like that, Jaskier leaning into Geralt's one-armed embrace, and Geralt savouring his closeness to the prince as well as the scent that was all Jaskier filling up his nostrils. There was no need to talk, no need to break the silence, because it was so comfortable, so calming. They stood watching the vivid blue skies above with the occasional white cloud drifting lazily by, they watched the falcons and hawks circle far above the city, they listened to the clocks in the churches and towers and the palace itself chime and announce the eleventh hour of the morning.

Suddenly, Jaskier heaved. He doubled over, and without warning, retched, emptying the contents of the breakfast they had shared onto the stone floor of the balcony.

Geralt had been startled by the sudden movement, and now he worriedly stooped next to Jaskier, his other arm supporting Jaskier's midriff while the arm that had been encircling Jaskier earlier now rubbed soothing circles on the prince's back.

"Jaskier! Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Jaskier retched a couple more times, unable to answer Geralt. Then, when it was clear nothing more would be coming out of his system, he straightened slowly, panting slightly, and Geralt removed the hand that was supporting Jaskier by the chest.

"It's nothing! My stomach's been upset a little bit for the last few days ... I think I ate too heavy a breakfast this morning, while I was absorbed in listening to your stories, ha ha", the prince offered weakly, forcing a smile upon his now rather pale face.

But the White Wolf of Rivia was a seasoned, battle-hardened, astute Witcher - his eyes did not miss the way the prince's right hand automatically came up to cradle his slightly swollen (now that Geralt observed it carefully) belly, gently rubbing tiny circles on it with his palm.


	5. No mercy towards liars and traitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AND THE ANGST BOAT IS HERE! JUMP IN, Y'ALL :-D I am deliberately refraining from giving any summary, because, well, I don't want to dilute the angst ;-) :-D And please, please review :-D

Geralt had insisted that he take Jaskier to the infirmary inside the palace, and Jaskier had stubbornly refused.

"I assure you, Geralt, it's nothing. Just need to control my food intake ... you have no idea what an insufferable epicure I am ...", the prince had prattled on, perhaps a bit too forcefully that the Witcher had not failed to notice, as they walked back to Jaskier's chambers, Geralt ready to support the prince should he need any help.

"I think I am going to take a short nap, and then go up to read in the library. Would you, uh, like to come up with me? To the library?"

Geralt had been unable to make the small frown and the absentminded gaze from his eyes disappear.

"I would need to practice my weapons, Jaskier. With Eskel and Lambert."

"Oh!", the prince had looked at the Witcher with wide eyes and clapped his hands in delight, "Can I come and watch?"

"If you wish."

"Alright. I'll come to the training yard within half an hour."

Geralt had made sure to see Jaskier to his bedroom before he left, the concerned frown still very much visible on his noble forehead.

************************************************************************************

Eskel and Lambert were already waiting at the entrance of the training yard, shouldering their swords, by the time Geralt made his way down to them.

"Where were you all morning?", Lambert inquired, his eyes narrowed in curiosity.

"Wandering around", Geralt said briefly, gesturing vaguely with his hands, not meeting the eyes of his two brothers.

Lambert grunted but did not press further, while Eskel fixed Geralt with an inscrutable gaze.

Without further ado, the three Witchers stripped down to their weather-worn undershirts, rolled up the hems of their faded and threadbare breeches and started their usual practice with their steel swords.

Before long, their bodies were drenched in sweat, every fibre, every muscle screaming under the strain as the three of them moved around so swiftly they resembled blurs, gliding from one stance to another in the twinkling of an eye, parrying each other's slashes and blows with quick ripostes, sometimes tackling each other to the ground. This had been their favourite time of the day back in Kaer Morhen - each of them would be in his elements during this time, fighting fiercely yet with the utter reassurance that neither would ever hurt the other two seriously.

After a point, Geralt decided to take a break and let Eskel and Lambert continue their wrestling.

And as he was traipsing back to where his shirt and his silver sword lay piled on one side of the yard, he looked up ...

... and saw the beaming face of Jaskier looking down at him from a balcony overlooking the yard, his eyes almost shining with joy and the thrill of watching the Witchers in action.

Despite the bruises now battering his body from the hard practice, and despite the small tendril of doubt, that had taken root in his mind that morning, eating away at him, Geralt couldn't help but smile back, and knew his grin was equally broad and happy. Jaskier waved at him, and Geralt raised his palm just a tiny bit in response, careful to not be seen waving at the prince by his two sparring brothers; but as he stole a stealthy glance at them, he knew it had been in vain. Both Eskel and Lambert had noticed the prince waving at him, and now were eyeing Geralt with more than a touch of curiosity.

Geralt hastily turned his back to his brothers and walked away brusquely to pick up his shirt. But as he was putting it on and buttoning it up, his gaze drifted once again to where the prince stood, and this time, he saw that Yennefer had joined him.

And Geralt watched, his eyebrows raised in silent puzzlement and the niggling doubt digging deeper into his mind, as Yennefer quickly took out a small vial out of the folds of her dress and handed it to Jaskier, who was staring at her with a confused expression. But then the sorceress elbowed the prince in what she intended (Geralt knew, from long years of acquaintance) to be a surreptitious nudge, and comprehension dawned on Jaskier's face. He took the vial and downed it in one, then sneaked the vial back into Yennefer's hand.

Neither the prince nor the sorceress noticed how this exchange was observed by the White Wolf, and how his jaws clenched and his eyes became hard as flint.

***********************************************************************************

They gathered for lunch at the queen's chambers. 

The king was busy with matters of administration of the state and Yennefer was helping him, and Lambert excused himself since he wanted to go out and look around the city (and buy some supplies for himself) during the daylight hours. So it was Geralt, Eskel and Jaskier who made their way together to the queen's quarters.

Queen Parveen herself welcomed them, her usual dazzling smile illuminating the tastefully furnished dining room, and Geralt found himself unable to keep up a grim facade in the face of such joy and love.

The food was delectable, as usual. The queen herself took up the task of making sure they ate well and asked for second and even third helpings without hesitation, and she also kept a careful eye on her son as he dove into his platter of food.

"Mmmm, these mango pickles are amazing, Ma", Jaskier smacked his lips in a most undignified manner, and Eskel sniggered, "Do you have more?"

"It's only spring, son, and we are only barely beginning to get raw mangoes from the orchards. We don't have a lot right now, but we shall have a new batch soon", the queen explained, an indulgent smile on her face.

"Can I just have a wee bit more? Just a wee ..."

"Jaskier!", the queen chided without any real heat in her voice.

"You seem to enjoy sour things quite a bit, Jaskier", Geralt remarked casually, but his eyes remained trained on Jaskier as keenly as a hawk watching its prey.

"Oh yeah! I am absolutely loving pickles! Can't have enough of them", Jaskier chattered on happily, even as the queen relented and served a heaping spoonful of the sticky, sweet-and-sour mango pickle onto the prince's plate.

Before long, the prince was begging to be served a second helping of the ice-cream that the cooks had prepared as part of that day's dessert menu, along with some extra pieces of chocolate.

"Don't know what to do with this greedy pig", the queen shook her head, smiling and swatting playfully at her son's arm as he reached for the jar of chocolates.

And while the prince joked and laughed alongside his queen mother and Eskel, he failed to notice the gold-amber eyes that refused to leave his face, and the way they blazed with a tempest of unfathomable emotions.

**********************************************************************************************

Jaskier was skipping down the corridor in his eagerness to find Geralt and ask him whether he would like to have dinner together, when he nearly ran into the Witcher himself.

"Oh! Geralt! I was looking for you!", he almost squeaked, his voice high-pitched.

"What a coincidence", Geralt spoke slowly, "I was looking for _you_!"

"Oh wow!", Jaskier giggled, then grabbing Geralt's wrist, tried to steer him towards his own chambers, "Come! Do you wish to have dinner together?"

But he could not make the White Wolf budge so much as an inch.

And as he turned back to look at Geralt, the Witcher gripped the prince's wrist with his free hand very firmly - almost enough to hurt - and removed it from where it had been clasping his own.

Jaskier stared at Geralt, suddenly nervous.

"Geralt ..."

"I hate it when I am deliberately kept in the dark. When secrets are kept from me", the Witcher all but snarled, though his voice remained quiet.

Jaskier paled, his eyes going wide with the guilt and fear of a thief who had been caught red-handed.

"What do you ... I ... I don't know what you mean", he tried, despite looking and smelling (to Geralt) like a cornered wild animal with no means of escape whatsoever.

"You are with child."

It was not a question. Just an assertion. And Jaskier visibly shrank as he gazed up at the looming stature of the White Wolf in front of him, with the stony expression, the clenched jaws and the hard eyes burning with unrestrained rage.

"Geralt, I...", the prince's voice wavered, "I would have told you. I just ... I needed some time. Of course, I would have told you. I was just so ... so scared ..."

"Of what?", Geralt brought his face close to the now diminutive prince, "That you wouldn't be able to beguile me with your charm if I knew that you are carrying someone else's child?"

The prince flinched violently as Geralt all but spat out the words with his face contorted in disgust.

"Whose baby is it, hmm?"

Jaskier's eyes were downcast now, and his lips had started to wobble. He tried to collect himself, remaining silent for the next few seconds.

"Prince Alvin. Of Lyria", came the quiet reply.

"He is to be married to the princess of Rivia soon. He cannot have been betrothed to you, much less married."

"Y-yes. He ... he ...", Jaskier was stammering now, and tears were pricking his eyes, "He and I met in Oxenfurt. He ... took me as his lover. He swore he would marry me. But then ... then he left. All of a sudden."

The prince's face crumpled in pain.

"Oh! Fantastic! It's not just someone else's baby in your belly! It's a bastard child!", Geralt hurled the words at the poor prince, and Jaskier's frame shook as he tried not to collapse to the ground under the cruel verbal onslaught.

"It's a child, Geralt. Not a bastard. An innocent child", he forced himself to reply, his pained voice now laced with a hint of anger and defiance.

"Is that so? Tell me, Your Highness, will your subjects - will your court - agree with you if you tried placing this child on the throne after you? Tell me, will you conveniently ignore the malicious whispers and rumours that will surround this child as it grows up inside these palace walls?", Geralt sneered.

Jaskier's tear-streaked face, warped in pain, was turned towards the floor, unable to meet Geralt's seething eyes.

"Or is that precisely why you need someone - someone honourable and transparent, and influential at the same time - to play the public role of being known as the man who sired this child upon you, hmm? Isn't that why you wanted to be as quick as possible in luring me in? I would bed you, and then you would choose a convenient enough time to reveal to me that you are bearing _my_ child..."

Jaskier slapped Geralt hard across the face.

And broke down in sobs.

"How could you, Geralt?", he slid down to the floor, his knees giving out, even as the White Wolf stared at him in incredulous fury, his cheek stinging from the slap, "This is what you think of me? This is who you think I am? That I could ... that I could ever even _think_ of using you?"

Geralt had had enough of this sniveling, dastardly traitor of a prince. A part of his mind was so irate it wanted to throttle the weak little human for daring to strike him, but the rest of him just felt disgusted, and wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and Jaskier.

He turned around and started striding away down the corridor.

"Geralt ...", the weeping prince called, his voice broken and entreating, "I would never ... you know I'm better than that ... I just ... please don't leave ... Geraaaalt ..."


	6. If something happened to you...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANGST ANGST ANGST :-D Goodness how cruel I feel I am ... but trust me, it's necessary. The love between these idiots will bloom that much beautifully when the stupid, dumb, boulder-headed Witcher realized just how badly he needs a certain lovely, cornflower-blue-eyed prince :-D I promise :-D PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW :-D

Jaskier was secretly relieved that Yennefer had to leave very early the next morning for a series of diplomatic missions that would last more than three weeks.

He had been dreading that Yennefer would somehow find time to come bid him goodbye before her trip, would see the state he was in and would immediately guess that something was wrong. She would then either proceed to manipulate him with her unsurpassed verbal skills and make him spill the truth, or glean it from him using her mind-reading abilities (although she had been sworn to not read the minds of the royal family members unless it was deemed absolutely necessary and unavoidable). Either way, once she came to know, heavens knew what wrath she would unleash upon Geralt, and Jaskier shuddered to think that he might be the one responsible for damaging the relationship between the two best friends.

_No, he had decided. He would stay as far out of Geralt's way as possible, as long as possible._

_He would tell his sorceress sister absolutely nothing at all. He would just stay to himself, lie low, and lick his wounds._

_And hope that somehow, time would aid in stitching back together his poor heart that was now cracked in two. Again. Within the span of just a few months._

It turned out that staying out of the new Sentinel's way was surprisingly easy, for the Witcher himself avoided all corridors and halls where he had the slightest probability of encountering the prince. Jaskier himself stayed mostly to his chambers, requesting servants to bring him books he needed from the library rather than go up there and study, requesting that his meals be brought to his rooms, and only venturing out for fresh air in the terrace-gardens late in the evenings, by which time Geralt would have already left for the nightly patrols with Eskel and Lambert.

The king and the queen, Jaskier knew, wouldn't think much of this, as they were used to seeing their son frequently retract into his proverbial shell, meaning that he would cloister himself either in his own rooms or in the library, and immerse himself in his studies and research, for days on end. He knew that this sudden bout of not joining them for lunch and dinner and not being seen in the court would not raise much suspicion. At least not for some weeks.

And while avidly devouring books and scrolls and tomes on ancient civilizations, history, mythology and runes did help to pass the time and engage his mind, nothing really aided in lifting the leaden weight that sat inside his heart. The weight of the consciousness that he was now regarded with abhorrence and utter absence of trust by a certain white-haired, amber-eyed, beloved Witcher. That while his own heart pined day and night to set eyes on, to reach out to, to spend time with the White Wolf, the Wolf had all but forgotten about his existence, and was actively maintaining as much distance as possible with him while still staying on as the Sentinel of Vengerberg.

*************************************************************************************************

Geralt couldn't believe that Yennefer - his dearest, most precious friend Yen - was involved in this ploy. This elaborate scheme of deceiving him. Because clearly, she knew of Jaskier's pregnancy, and she had never once let this rather critical piece of information slip - not in her letters, nor in their face to face conversations after he had taken up his post at the court.

And Geralt knew that Yennefer was nothing if not loyal to the bone. She loved him and his Witcher family fiercely, and would never let any harm befall them.

Then why?

Could it be that she was not aware of how the prince had been trying to entice Geralt into falling for him, then taking him as his mate - his husband? That she was innocent of the conspiracy to get the White Wolf involved, to dupe him into believing he was the biological father to this bastard child, thus providing it the legitimacy necessary?

Or could it be that she was now so deeply entangled in the devious politics of this particular state and its ruling family that she was willing to let her friend be swindled this way as long as she was reassured no physical harm would come to him? May be she felt that she would be able to hide the truth long enough, and thus save Geralt from any unnecessary emotional hurt as well?

Whatever it was, Geralt needed to speak to her. As soon as possible.

Except that the very morning after that fateful day he had discovered the truth being kept from him, she had left to serve as Vengerberg's magic-wielding emissary on some stupid official tour, and won't be back for three long weeks.

Until such time as he could wring the truth from his best friend, Geralt had resolved to keep strictly to his chambers and to the training grounds while he was inside the palace, and to do his duty of defending the kingdom every night. Nothing more, nothing less. He now deeply mistrusted every single member of the royal family, and refused to join them for meals by making flimsy excuses. The king and the queen did not press, and while Eskel did squint at him with suspicion in his eyes and a volley of questions ready on his lips (Lambert being blissfully oblivious to pretty much everything, typical Lambert-style), he thought better of needling the White Wolf.

And at all costs, Geralt avoided having to set his eyes on a certain young, beautiful face, with its mesmerizing cornflower-blue eyes, the silk-smooth chestnut brown hair - unkempt yet somehow so adorable and stylish, and the plump, pale raspberry-hued lips.

And if somewhere deep down, he missed that face - missed the owner of that face - well, then, the Witcher was nothing if not an expert in shoving those damned emotions well underneath the rug and pretending they never existed.

******************************************************************************************

Jaskier tried his best to present a brazen face in front of Yennefer.

The sorceress had waited barely long enough to wrap up her meeting with the king and his administrative chiefs, explaining how the trip had gone and how it would impact the relationship of Vengerberg with the kingdoms she had visited, before making her way down to her adopted brother's chambers.

"How have you been?", Yennefer asked after Jaskier had wriggled himself free of her bear-hug and smiled brightly at her.

"Cool as a cucumber, happy as a lark, carefree as a tuft of cumulus cloud adrift high in the summer skies, and as deeply delving into my research as ... well, as a mole burrowing into the ground", he waved in the general direction of his work-table and bookshelves, both of which were basically overflowing with stacks of papers and quills and heavy, cloth-bound books, fetched from the library and hoarded in his room.

Yennefer raised an eyebrow.

"And what of your crush?"

"Crush? What crush?"

Yennefer now narrowed her eyes, and Jaskier prayed the conversation would somehow magically veer itself out of dangerous waters. 

"Geralt. What of him? Did you two get to spend more time with each other while I was gone?"

"Ah! Oh - yeah - um - well - he - uh - he has been rather busy", Jaskier stammered, promptly looking away from his sorceress sister.

He should have known that whatever he said, he would just be digging his own grave a few inches deeper.

Yennefer stared at him for several seconds, her gaze unreadable, while he squirmed and fidgeted under her scrutiny. Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and left, leaving him standing in the middle of the room gaping like a fish.

What the prince could not have known was how, right after exiting his room, Yennefer stopped dead in her tracks, muttered a very low "Sorry, Jask", and then touching her temple with a couple of fingers, closed her eyes. Just for a few seconds.

When she opened them, those startlingly violet orbs blazed like a pair of deadly infernos.

"Geralt ...", she breathed, hoping that she would not demolish half the palace in a fit of rage, "Wait until I lay my hands on you, you fucking bastard ...". And with that, the sorceress stalked off in search of someone she knew would soon be very, very, very sorry to meet her.

**********************************************************************************************************

Geralt was lounging on the chaise, pouring over the chessboard, eyes locked on the pieces Lambert was moving around, speculating his next strategy, when the door flew open on its hinges.

If it had been anyone else inside the room, they would have jumped out of their skin at the deafening slam of the door, followed by scurrying away as far as possible at the sight of the seething, fuming, violet-eyed sorceress who stood there, grinding her teeth, once-immaculately-combed black hair now flying every which way as she stared daggers at her best friend.

But as it was, the room held three very hardy, very stoic Witchers. So all that happened was Lambert looking up at her with a grunt, Eskel raising a skeptical eyebrow, and Geralt letting out a low growl in his throat.

"Geralt."

"Yennefer", the answer came with a sneer.

"Walk with me."

"With pleasure, sorceress", Geralt all but spat.

Yennefer made sure they were as far out of earshot as possible while still staying within the palace grounds, before rounding on her companion.

"How dare you?"

"How dare _you_?", the White Wolf countered, refusing to back down.

"You truly think that he has been trying to lure you into a trap, just so his bastard child could be legitimized?", she demanded, disbelief colouring her voice.

"What else could it be, hmm? If he had no ulterior motives, why then did he not reveal that he is pregnant from the very beginning?"

"Because he is still hurting, Geralt!", Yennefer all but screamed, her face contorted in both anger and pain, "That cruel bastard of a prince broke him, left him in the dust. And Jaskier is now carrying his child. He is devastated, Geralt! It's not easy for him to speak of this to anyone, let alone someone he has known for barely more than a couple of days."

"And you?", Geralt wasn't easily cowed, "You weren't heartbroken, were you, Yen? Why did _you_ fail to mention it to me? Or are you so hand in glove with your favourite royal family that you are willing to let your best friend be deceived and have him raise a bastard as his ..."

The rest of the words were cut short as Yennefer slapped him across his face.

But Geralt had had enough of people hitting him when they were the ones who were guilty of trying to hoodwink him.

He took hold of the offending hand and twisted the wrist, until Yen cried out in pain.

"I am not going to put up with this, Yennefer", he snarled, "Just because you are my dearest friend does not mean you get to play with my life. With my heart."

Yennefer broke free of his grip, cradling her wrist, and Geralt instantly felt guilt and shame twist his heart.

"Geralt", Yen's tone was sullen and quiet, "I think you know very well that I would die before I let any harm come to you. Before I let anyone hurt you - break your heart - in the slightest. What has come over you, my friend? Do you truly, honestly, believe that I would let Jaskier seduce you, play with you, trick you into marrying him if those were his intentions? Do you honestly believe, Geralt, after interacting with him - and I know how keenly perceptive you are - that Jaskier is such a reprobate? Such a vile, depraved, heartless individual?"

Geralt's eyes still smouldered, but his heart was steadily growing heavier with every word she spoke.

"It was I who helped cast the necessary spells, brew the necessary potions, when Jaskier came to me like a lovesick puppy, wanting to bear Alvin's child. To give birth to a darling little baby of their own", Yen's eyes suddenly shone with unshed tears, and Geralt felt his heart lurch, "After Alvin showed his true colours, the king and the queen were worried sick for Jask. I offered to ... to abort the child", she almost choked on the words, "Offered to free him of the burden. You know what he said? "My baby is not a burden, Yen. My baby's my world." Do you think _this_ person would care if his child is considered legitimate by the rest of the world or not?"

Geralt didn't know what to say to that.

"You have met Ma and Baba. You have seen first-hand what kind of humans they are, and how they regard you and Eskel and Lambert. They love Jask with their entire being. Just the way he is. Along with the child now growing inside him. They left the choice to him - to keep the fetus, or to destroy it. Heck, Ma even confided in me once how she dearly hoped he would keep the baby. Do you think _these_ people would care if their grandchild is accepted by anyone else as their true heir or not?"

"I don't care", Geralt proclaimed loudly, as if trying to drown out Yennefer's voice, and the conflicting voices now clamouring inside his own stupid head, "I am here to do my job, okay? I am not prepared to take the responsibility of a child that is not my own. I am not going to marry a prince who was stupid enough to let himself get carried away, to become pregnant with the child of someone he wasn't even betrothed to. So stop trying to make a match of us, alright?"

The steely veneer slid back in place as Yennefer's eyes went from tearful to hard as chips of flint, and her expression became cold as stone.

"You're right, Geralt. I should stop hoping that you fall for my dear adopted brother. Stop praying that you two spend your lives together, have a happily ever after with each other. Because you know what? My darling brother deserves so, so much better than you - an unfeeling, uncaring, heartless Witcher."

She knew it was a low blow. She knew that coming from the lips of his very best friend, the words would hurt Geralt like hell. And yet, this was the only way she could think of. Only way of making him see. Only way of making him realize just how precious, how priceless a jewel he was letting slip through his fingers when he all but had it in his grasp.

_She fervently prayed to Melitele that her efforts would be worth it - that her best friend - the great hairy lummox of a Witcher - would come to his senses. That he wouldn't let go of the love of his life._

***********************************************************************************************

After biding his time inside his chambers for almost three and a half weeks, Jaskier had finally, timidly, made his way up to the library, carrying an armful of books he needed to return or risk being scolded like an erring five-year-old by Master Neville.

It had been a relief to find the library empty of all occupants except the librarian himself, and Jaskier had let himself enjoy three full hours of reading and taking notes in complete solitude, his mind automatically relaxing as the smell of old, yellowing pages and tattered bindings wafted to his nose, filling up his senses. Books had always been such stalwart friends of Jaskier's - never betraying him, never abandoning him, never failing to keep him company and soothing him when he most needed it.

When he left the library, on one hand his mind was no longer being overly wary of running into a certain someone. But on the other, a mild headache was starting to build up, and Jaskier felt very hungry, and inwardly cursed himself for being so negligent - he was not supposed to go long hours without food, and he ought to have carried some snacks up to the library. 

Softly caressing the belly that now protruded a little bit more than last month, making him look deliciously plump around the midsection, the tired prince exited the double doors of the library hall, yawning and wondering what the menu would be for lunch.

"Papa ought not have been so careless, honey", he patted his belly affectionately, "Papa's going in search of food now. Right away, my sweet flower ..."

But before he could go any further, a hand shot forth and grabbed his arm, and Jaskier yelped and tried to shield his abdomen protectively with his hands as he was whirled around to face his assailant.

Geralt.

The Witcher gripped the shoulders of the frail little human iron hard and pulled him flush against his chest, and Jaskier winced in pain.

"Geralt! You're hurting me! Let go!"

"You dared!", Geralt snarled, an animalistic growl escaping his throat, "You dared to put Yennefer up to this! To manipulate me, insult me, somehow persuade me to give in and play along, hmm? My own best friend, turned against me, telling me how I am not good enough for a simpering coward - a fucking trickster such as you, hmm?"

Jaskier felt his mind going numb in pain and resignation - what could he say? How could he make Geralt see? Geralt, who was so intransigent, so obstinate in not seeing the truth? His eyes hazed over in pain, his face crumpled, and he found himself going limp in Geralt's vicious grasp.

"I never told Yennefer anything, Geralt", he forced himself to choke out, despite his throat nearly constricting in pain.

"Liar!", Geralt growled, "Fucking, shameless liar!"

The Wolf made to let go as if disgusted, and Jaskier felt that perhaps he would be released so suddenly from Geralt's grasp that he would stagger backwards and fall, and worry twisted his heart for the little one in his belly.

_And yet, Geralt didn't do it. Didn't release Jaskier too abruptly. Didn't shove the prince away from him._

_Instead, rather incongruously to how painfully hard he had gripped Jaskier a moment ago, the Wolf released the prince quite gently, allowing him time to find his footing, to balance himself, to steady his legs._

_And Jaskier couldn't help but notice the way Geralt's hands hovered a fraction of a second longer on either side of Jaskier's arms after he had let go, just to make sure the prince wouldn't sway and topple backwards._

But before he could process these observations, Geralt turned away from him, and started walking away without a single backward glance.

Jaskier bit down on his quivering lower lip, and tried to blink back the tears. There was no point crying, he knew. No point calling out to Geralt, imploring the Witcher to listen, to see reason. 

He knew that right now, he needed to stop himself from shaking like an autumn leaf, to steady himself, and he needed to eat. To get some strength back in his body, to not feel like his limbs were made of jelly. He knew he needed to take a nap. And afterwards, find Yennefer.

Taking a deep steadying breath, he proceeded in the direction opposite to the one Geralt had disappeared in, towards the spiral staircase that led all the way down to the queen's chambers.

*************************************************************************************************

Geralt would have gone straight back to his chambers, sparing no glance in any other direction, livid as he was with fury and panting like a wounded wild predator. He would _not_ be lied to like this, would _not_ be played like a cheap pawn ...

And yet, something - some premonition - the foreboding of something terrible and irrevocable about to happen - had his thunderous footsteps come to a halt.

_Something was wrong._

_Or something was about to go horribly, irreversibly wrong._

_And he had to stop it._

_He must, or he would never ever forgive himself._

And the Witcher, unable to fathom the surges of emotions wracking his mind, unable to resist the pull that nearly had him cry out in pain, started sprinting down the corridor.

_Back in the direction he had come from. Back towards the library._

_Back towards Jaskier._

When he reached the library doors, his eyes frantically scanned the hallway around him, until his eyes landed on the slender human.

_Jaskier._

_Standing right at the edge of the stairwell, back turned to Geralt._

_Hands not holding on to anything._

_One foot extended out into thin air._

_Swaying._

_About to careen forward._

_Melitele, if he fell ..._

_... if he hit his head on the stone steps ..._

_... if he landed on his belly ..._

"JASKIER!!!"


	7. And I begin to realize just how much I fear losing you...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst with a side of love and tenderness and fluff and ... guess what? Yes, confessions !! It's slowly coming together. Still a very long way to go, but at least the idiots are trying to be on the same page. To talk to each other. To let each other know how they feel. Yayyyyy, progress!! LOL :-D
> 
> PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW !! AND PLEASE KEEP THE ENCOURAGEMENT COMING :-D

When Jaskier came to, the first thing he registered was that he was in someone's arms.

Someone had hoisted him up in their arms bridal style, one arm underneath his back and clutching his right shoulder, another arm underneath his knees. Jaskier's head was lolling onto someone's strong, wide shoulder, and his torso was pressed securely onto someone's broad, sculpted chest. He could feel a very slow, unhurried heartbeat through the thin fabric of the soft shirt that this person was wearing, and his nostrils breathed deep in the musky scent of sweat and dirt and mud and something very distinctly masculine but not really human. Whoever was carrying him did not seem very exhausted from having to walk (and he seemed to be walking quite fast - almost jogging) while bearing the weight of an adult man and then some.

Jaskier's eyes were still closed as he leaned into the robust embrace of the brawny chest and shoulder, his cheek pressed against the soft cotton fabric of the man's shirt, his forehead grazing the rough yet pleasantly prickly surface of a jaw and a chin covered in short stubble. The swaying motion from the brisk jogging pace the man had set was almost lulling the prince back to sleep, his mind becoming steadily groggier ...

Suddenly, the fog that was obscuring his thoughts lifted a tiny bit, and he remembered.

He had been standing on the very edge of the staircase, right in front of the library doors. He had been about to climb down to the lower levels, to go to his mother's chambers.

_And then he had suddenly felt dizzy. Empty stomach, fatigue and ... and the confrontation he had had with ... with someone he had fallen hopelessly in love with - all of it had contributed to making him feel light-headed, sent him reeling._

Which meant that ... had he ... had he fallen down the stairs ... had he ...

Jaskier's right hand flew to his belly at the same moment that his eyes flew open.

"Baby? My ... my baby ... my ..."

His panicked mumbling and squirming in the tight embrace he was held in made the man slow in his tracks.

"It's alright. You're alright. You're okay."

The voice sounded familiar. Deep, bass, rumbling through the chest he was still leaning into. But Jaskier's thoroughly befuddled and now terrified mind was unable to focus on the voice and identify whom it belonged to.

"But the baby ... my baby?"

His voice broke, his thoughts clouded with fear - fear of losing his precious child. Tears were starting to form. The palm of his right hand could still feel the bulge of his belly, but he so badly needed reassurance ... needed to know his little one was okay ...

"Jaskier, please! Please keep still ... I can't hold you if you squirm so much ... Jaskier!"

"My baby ...", the distraught prince whimpered.

"Your baby's okay. She's okay, Jaskier ... the little one is okay ... Jaskier please!"

And right that moment, Jaskier's ears caught the sound of footsteps. The clippery-clop of boots on the stone floor, nearly sprinting towards them.

"What happened?", Yennefer's voice rang out, sheer panic apparent in it.

"He fainted. I don't know why."

"It's common during pregnancy."

"Yen, he would have fallen down the stairs", came the quiet and solemn reply, laced with acute worry and distress. Scared and shaken - that's what it sounded like.

There was the sound of a sharp inhale, followed by an urgent "This way. Bring him to my chambers."

The jogging resumed, even as Jaskier realized he had started to weep. Silently, but in earnest, tears running down his cheeks.

_For he had just recognized the person to whom belonged the deep masculine voice. The person who was currently carrying him._

_The person who had, evidently, saved him from falling down the stairs. From what could have resulted in his death. From what could have resulted in the miscarriage of his darling child._

_The person whom he had fallen in love with._

_And the person who had, not once but twice, let him know in no uncertain terms how much he hated and resented the prince._

If the tears streaming down Jaskier's face drenched the front of Geralt's shirt - if he felt it at all - the Witcher made no mention of it. If his enhanced senses caught Jaskier's hitched breathing, and the way the prince tried to suppress his sobs, he gave no indication of it.

_Except that the hand that held onto Jaskier's arm tightened a fraction, and the prince's body was pulled even closer - impossibly close - to the Witcher's very warm, very firm, very comforting chest._

"Here. Lay him down here."

Very, very gingerly, very, very tenderly, the prince was lowered onto a plush mattress covered in downy, soft sheets. And Geralt's large hands gently lifted Jaskier's head, adjusted the soft, fluffy pillow underneath, and then laid it back down delicately in what he hoped was a more comfortable position for the prince.

Jaskier kept his eyes tight shut. He was afraid to open them, unsure of what he would see if he looked into the gold orbs that he could feel were currently fixed on his face with searing intensity.

But his fingers had wriggled through the placket of Geralt's shirt, and they now held on to the fabric, tight and unyielding.

Which meant that Geralt remained bent, hovering above Jaskier, unable to bring himself to pry the crying prince's fingers off his shirt and fling away the prince's hand. The hand that held onto his shirt so desperately - like he were Jaskier's lifeline. Like if he were to let go, Jaskier would fall. Like he were the one person the prince needed to lean on to, for support.

Slowly, Geralt's hand came up to cover Jaskier's with a very warm, calloused palm, and gently but reassuringly loosened the grip of the fingers clinging onto his shirt.

_And instead of letting go of the much smaller human hand that fit snugly in his palm, he held onto it, clasping it firmly with his own._

_Like a promise. A promise to stay._

_And as Geralt lowered himself onto a chair by Jaskier's bedside, his other hand came up to rest on the prince's slightly clammy forehead ..._

_... rubbing it with his thumb, running his fingers lovingly over the temples and above the eyebrows, combing through the ruffled hair._

And Jaskier's lips started to wobble, and a fresh torrent of tears started traitorously leaking down his cheeks from underneath the still-tightly-closed eyelids.

_After all this time, beloved Witcher._

_After all the hurt. All the rejection. All the mistrust._

_Now you touch me. Touch me so fondly. So tenderly._

Jaskier was momentarily distracted from the sobs he was struggling to suppress by the feeling of the lowermost buttons of his baggy shirt being swiftly unfastened, and the shirt being rolled up to his chest.

Two small, dainty palms materialized on the already tightening skin of his growing belly, pressing lightly.

"I am going to make sure the baby is okay. I need you to take deep breaths, Jask."

Jaskier obeyed, but didn't open his eyes. Yennefer kept murmuring "Deep breaths" and "You're doing good" as her hands wandered over his abdomen, carefully pressing down here and there, asking if Jaskier felt any discomfort anywhere.

At last, she sat back and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Oh thank Melitele ... baby's okay. The baby's alright, Jask."

Jaskier whimpered, unable to reply, as his right hand came up to rest on the naked skin of his belly.

"How long did you go without food and water, Jask?"

Yen's tone was quiet but berating, and Jaskier knew he deserved her ire. He needed to be much more careful about his eating schedule. He was no longer alone. He could no longer afford to be so callous.

"Three hours. Probably a little more", he admitted in a small voice, eyes still resolutely shut.

Before Yennefer could admonish him further, Geralt spoke up. 

"I'll go to the pantry. Grab some food from there."

Jaskier's eyes came open. 

And his fingers reflexively curled around Geralt's palm in a firm hold even as the Witcher made to stand up from his seat.

Yen's keen eyes did not miss the exchange. A small, knowing smile graced her lips as she said, slightly shaking her head, "You stay, Geralt. You won't know which items to pick ... Jask needs to eat specific foods rich in sugar and iron, to help steady his blood pressure."

Looking at Jask, she threw a reassuring smile, then with an "I'll be back in a few minutes", she left the room.

*************************************************************************

The White Wolf of Rivia and the Prince of Vengerberg sat alone in the room. 

The prince's left hand clasped in the Witcher's much larger one, their fingers wrapped tightly over each other's knuckles, thumbs softly caressing one another's skin. The right hand of the Witcher rested on the prince's forehead, massaging the skin there with his thumb; and the right hand of the prince cradled his swollen belly.

The prince's cornflower-blue eyes looked up timidly at the Witcher's face through long lashes. The Witcher's golden ones remained downcast, and a small frown puckered his forehead, as he stared at his feet, feeling nothing but the heaviness of guilt and the sting of anxiety and disquiet as the unnerving sequence of events from a few minutes ago played out in his mind one more time.

_So close. So perilously close._

_So close I came to losing you today, Jask._

_If you had fallen, if you had gotten hurt ..._

_If something had happened to the little one ..._

"Geralt?", Jaskier spoke softly, his voice small, as if he couldn't be certain if the White Wolf would yell at him again, would leave him alone, would spurn him once more and walk out of the room.

Geralt's heart gave a painful twinge. _What had he done to his prince? His once gregarious, cheerful, carefree, happy, adorable, darling prince?_

"Would you like to sit up, Jaskier?", the Witcher attempted to smile, even as his eyes blurred with tears, as he focused on the prone little human in front of him.

Jaskier gulped, then nodded. "I'll help", Geralt declared, and snaking his arm underneath Jaskier's neck, he slowly helped the prince sit up, supporting him all the way, while at the same time making sure he didn't put any pressure on his belly. Swiftly, he gathered up the pillow and some cushions and arranged them behind Jaskier, punching them to make them more pliant and comfy, and finally let the prince lean back against them.

"Good?"

"Yes. Th-thank you, Geralt."

"Hold on. Let me bring you some water."

He walked over to where the large earthen pitcher stood at one corner of the room, and grabbing a clean chalice from a shelf next to it, he poured out some cool water and brought it back to the prince.

Jaskier kept both his hands pressed to his tummy, making no attempt to take the proffered chalice. Instead, he tilted his chin up, and Geralt didn't mistake the gesture.

A soft smile lit up his lips, and the White Wolf placed one hand underneath Jaskier's chin and, with the other, held the chalice above the prince's open lips, letting the water dribble into his mouth.

Once Jaskier's thirst was quenched, Geralt sat down again. The prince hesitantly extended a hand towards the Witcher, his expression timid, fearing rejection and reprimands. 

"May I?"

Wordlessly, Geralt took the small human hand in his own, in a gentle yet firm grip. 

"Geralt, may I say something?"

The Witcher nodded, his eyes softy glancing up at Jaskier's, full of guilt and remorse.

"I know I should have told you. Right away, from the very start. And I am sorry that I did not", Jaskier paused for breath, and Geralt's hand automatically squeezed his own as the Witcher made to interrupt, but the prince stalled him.

"No, please, listen. I could not bring myself to tell you right away, because I felt vulnerable. I felt ... that may be this was too personal a thing to reveal to someone I had barely begun to know. I felt that some nice - suitable - opportunity would come up soon, and I would tell you everything, and all would be fine."

"Jaskier, I ..."

"Please. Allow me to finish. What I never ever intended, Geralt, was for you to feel deceived. To feel like you were being taken advantage of. Whatever else I may be, Geralt, I am not a fraud. I am not an immoral, unscrupulous, unprincipled human. I am not a betrayer. Please believe this."

"I do", Geralt said plainly, his eyes now boring into Jaskier's tearful ones, trying to convey the sincerity in his words, "I do now. I know better, now. And I should have known better, then."

"And you may never love me back, Geralt", the prince continued, his throat choking just for a few seconds after he uttered those words, "You may never come to care for me as I care for you. But please - please don't let your trust in me waver. Please don't lose faith in me. I mean well, and I care deeply for you, Geralt. I would never, ever hurt you. I am not a monster, Geralt."

Geralt had heard enough. He really could not take it anymore. Could not tolerate for a moment longer the pained words that spilled forth from his prince's tongue, all because of his own insensitivity and cruelty.

Scooting forward, the White Wolf placed his very warm palms on Jaskier's belly, and the prince drew a sharp breath as Geralt's heated, roughened skin pressed down on the delicate, pale skin of his growing belly. 

"Jasky", and Jaskier's eyes widened impossibly, glued to his Witcher's face, "I trust you. I trust you more than I trust myself."

Geralt's hands now softly massaged Jaskier's belly, and the poor prince felt his heart lurch, and butterflies assault his stomach, even as his eyes fluttered and his breaths came rapid under the Witcher's gentle, loving caresses.

:"And all this time, I deluded myself. I forced myself to stay away. I ...", Geralt breathed heavily, then looked up again at his prince, "I care for you more than I can ever express in words, Jasky."


	8. Waking up in your arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF :-D Fluffier and softer than the softest, downiest pillow (or plush toy) you can imagine LOL :-D Please do read and review. And thank god the Wolf is learning to vocalize his thoughts and show his affections :-D

Yennefer had absolutely refused to let Jaskier return to his chambers that night.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight, for tonight. You might feel dizzy again, especially if you wake in the middle of the night. I want to make sure you are not alone at that time. I promised Ma to keep you safe throughout your pregnancy."

"Oh so you won't keep your brother safe _after_ the pregnancy?", Jaskier had joked cheekily, earning himself a light smack up his head.

So that evening, after bidding Geralt goodbye (when he left for his nightly vigil, Jaskier squeezing the Witcher's hand anxiously, and Geralt planting a quick reassuring kiss on top of the prince's hair), the sorceress and the prince had decided to have dinner together, inviting the king and the queen over to join them.

"Yen?", Jaskier had asked once Yen had settled him down comfortably in her four-poster bed for the night, herself choosing to sleep on the smaller and far less ostentatious spare bed, "Do you think ... um ... that it's safe for him ... and his brothers, of course ... to go out on patrol every single night?"

Yen had thrown Jaskier a knowing smile before resuming adding cushions and pillows all around the prince's recumbent form to make him more comfortable, " There are always risks to their profession. There is no denying that. However, they _are_ experts in what they do, Jask. Besides, my protective wards around them are still strong - I tested them today. And now that I am back, most days I shall be accompanying them for much of the night, making sure they are safe and aiding in fighting, should the need for fighting arise. "

The prince had looked plain afraid at the prospect of both his adopted sister and the man he loved now being potentially exposed to mortal danger every night, until Yen had smoothed his worried frown away and made him drink some soothing herbal tea that finally lulled him to sleep.

******************************************************************************************

Yen rushed to the door, fearing the worst.

Why otherwise would anyone knock on her door at half past five in the morning?

She was nearly breathless when she opened the doors ...

... to come face to face with Geralt.

"Are you alright? Is something wrong?"

But she could smell no blood, no pain, no scent that indicated a brutal battle on her best friend. Just the mild tang of concern, and a frown on his face.

"I'm fine, Yen", the Witcher placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "But Jaskier?"

And Yennefer understood within a second what the matter was, and her heart lifted. 

"You just came back from the patrol", she asserted, her eyes scanning the Witcher fully dressed in his armour. Even the two swords were visible, their hilts peeking out from behind him.

"Well, of course!", Geralt frowned at her in confusion. 

"And you came straight to my chambers to check on Jask", she deadpanned, raising an eyebrow as if in challenge. 

_Oh!_

The White Wolf immediately blushed a becoming shade of pink and looked down at his feet, wringing his hands in quiet nervousness.

"And _I_ am the one who is trying to make a match here", the sorceress huffed goodnaturedly as she stood aside, letting her friend enter.

*****************************************************************************

The two friends stood side by side, watching the peacefully sleeping form of their beloved prince from the doorway of Yennefer's bedroom. 

"Well, now that I know he's okay ...", Geralt said, with both hesitation and reluctance clear in his voice, as if implicitly asking Yennefer if he should leave.

The sorceress couldn't help but chuckle, and reached up to fondly muss up her best friend's hair. "Stay here."

"But ..."

"Just strip off that stupid armour and go cuddle him."

"I'm not sure he would appreciate that, Yen", Geralt said, his tone serious, "I ought to ask for his permission."

"I think what he _won't_ appreciate is you leaving right now", Yen said, rolling her eyes, "You know full well how he feels about you. He would love to wake up in your arms."

"But what if ..."

"Please, Geralt. I have known him far longer than you have, and I am telling you, nothing would make him happier. Besides, it is usually the case that an expectant man or woman feels safer when they are held while they sleep. The baby too will feel more secure. Both of them will sleep far more soundly if the man Jaskier loves is holding him close while he is in such a vulnerable state."

Geralt felt his heart almost stutter to a stop.

_The man Jaskier loved ..._

_Both Jaskier and the little one would feel safe if Geralt were to hold them in the secure confines of his own body while they slept._

"May be I should go take a bath", he tried feebly, one final time, although he knew his resolve had been weakened far too much by Yen.

"Geralt", Yen stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm, "Not only do you need sleep and rest right now after staying up all night, but Jaskier won't really feel very glad if you went to the trouble of getting a bath this early in the morning just so you smell all clean and flowery to him. He won't mind. He loves you just as you are."

****************************************************************************************

The first thing that Jaskier sensed was the bright sunlight of late morning on his eyelids, subdued by the curtains Yen had drawn over the windows the night before. It felt warm and nice, and his surroundings seemed hushed and quiet, although he knew that was probably because of Yen having cast some spells to keep him from being disturbed.

And the next things his mind registered were ...

_... the slow rise and fall of a strong, firm chest flush against his back, and a ponderous heartbeat he could feel through thin fabrics of shirts pressed together ..._

_... the flutter of extremely warm, heavy breaths on the back of his neck, pleasantly scorching the bare skin there ..._

_... a burly arm carefully draped over his waist ..._

_... and the palm that rested, splayed, over the bare skin of his belly, underneath his nightshirt, the heat emanating from it soothing the weight the prince carried in his womb._

Jaskier's breath hitched. He almost dared not open his eyes, lest all these sensations suddenly disappear, proving to be figments conjured by his sleep-addled mind.

But as he lay there, trying to control the mad hurtling of his suddenly racing heart, he realized that all these sensations remained, solid and tactile and tangible, anchoring him, making him feel secure, making him feel taken care of.

Slowly - very, very slowly and carefully - the prince turned to the other side, towards his companion who was fast asleep, hoping the movements would not wake up the far-too-alert Witcher from much needed sleep and rest.

Geralt didn't stir - a proof that he was actually quite exhausted from night after night of vigilant guarding of the entire kingdom against deadly intruders (and Jaskier made a mental note to have a word with his Baba regarding this) - not even when Jaskier's hand came up to rest on the Witcher's waist, caressing the shirt there very lightly. 

Geralt looked so peaceful, so young, so carefree and untroubled and unencumbered when he was sound asleep like this. The lines of worry had been smoothed away from his forehead, and his lips were not pulled down in his usual sullen pout. There was even the very faint hint of a smile perking up the corners of the deliciously-full-yet-firm lips. His frame was no longer rigid with wariness - instead, the muscles in his shoulders and arms and chest were relaxed, his breathing even. The silver-white hair shimmered as it fanned out all around the Witcher's head and spilled onto their shared pillow, forming a glimmering halo around him. And now that those beautiful gold eyes were closed, Jaskier noted how long and beautiful Geralt's eyelashes were.

_Beautiful! My White Wolf is so, so beautiful! And my heart's full to bursting..._

Without thinking, the prince tried to burrow into that strong, muscular chest, even though his bulging midsection was now flush against's Geralt's own toned abdomen and kind of getting in the way.

Which, of course, promptly woke the Witcher up.

"Jasky! Are you alright? Are you okay?"

All traces of sleep had disappeared from those fiery gold orbs as they now regarded Jaskier with open concern and alarm, the frown was back on that noble forehead, and the hand that had slipped off Jaskier's belly now flew back there, cradling the bulge as if to protect it, to keep it safe. 

"I'm fine, Geralt", Jaskier said weakly, and he was now quite sure his heart would burst at the seams with the immensity of the love he felt for the Witcher (and the love that said Witcher, in turn, was showering upon him so unhesitatingly), "I just ... I wanted to get closer to you, but then this got in the way", he finished shyly and sheepishly, gesturing at his belly.

Geralt took a couple of seconds to process that, then chuckled, and the deep sound almost made Jaskier's toes curl.

"Try to see if it helps if you swing your right leg over my left hip", Geralt instructed.

"Wha- oh! Oh n-no no ... I - uh - probably shouldn't ...", the prince stammered, blushing a deep shade of magenta.

Geralt arched an eyebrow, a wicked grin playing on his lips.

"Sorry for the transgression, Your Highness, but after last night's confessions, I was under the impression that you won't mind ...", Geralt made to scoot away from Jaskier and leave the bed.

"No no!", the prince frantically grabbed onto the Witcher's shirtfront in a desperate fist and tried to pull him back towards himself, immediately aching for the contact he had lost.

And as Geralt slid back in place next to the prince, letting Jaskier dive into his chest and straddle his battle-hardened thighs with his soft, slender legs, the Wolf could not help letting out a quiet guffaw. Jaskier pouted at the sound. "You're having entirely too much fun, aren't you, Sir Witcher?"

"I am", Geralt affirmed, his arms now encircling his darling prince, completely enveloping him, rubbing his back in loving caresses that made the prince hum in contentment, "Jasky?"

"Mmm?"

"Forgive me, my heart."

Jaskier looked up from where his face had been hidden in the folds of Geralt's shirt, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. Geralt mistook the reaction for a silent question, and answered, "For how I treated you after ... you know ... after I came to know ...", he trailed off, his face twisted in a slight, pained grimace.

"Do you mean it?"

Geralt's eyes snapped to Jaskier's, and he frowned quizzically.

"Of course I mean it, Jasky! Please know that I would not bother apologizing if I am not most contrite and sincere ..."

"That's not what I meant."

The Wolf looked utterly perplexed now.

"I meant the other part. The ... you know ... do you mean it when you ... um ... call me your heart?", and Jaskier blushed deeply again, looking very flustered and full of trepidation at the answer he was to receive.

And Geralt's face split into a smile more exuberant and heartfelt and sunny than any Jaskier had witnessed so far. The Witcher shifted his head on the pillow until his forehead was pressed against the prince's, and his eyes slipped closed, and he breathed deeply in his companion's scent.

"Yes. That's what you are. My heart."


	9. A promise is made, even as the first hint appears that all may not be well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, after lots and lots of angst and lots and lots of fluff, here comes something new: the deepening of love, but not yet physical intimacy (hang in there -- that's coming very, very soon), and MYSTERY!! Something's up, and even the supremely clever sorceress isn't sure what that is. PLEASE READ THIS CHAPTER AND LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS :-D

A few weeks had passed since Jaskier's near-accident from the sudden spell of dizziness. 

The prince and the Wolf had, in this short while, settled into a comfortable routine of having breakfast together (with Geralt always ready to help soothe Jaskier after his near-daily spells of morning sickness), followed by their leisurely walk around the palace, especially through the terrace-gardens, enjoying the morning breeze and the beauty of the flowers in bloom, always culminating in that very special strip of balcony that was lined on either side by Jaskier's favourite cherry and magnolia trees. They would then sit there, side by side, with Geralt usually placing a hand on the small of Jaskier's back to lend the pregnant prince some additional support. And they would look out onto the sprawling skyline of the city in front of them, sometimes chatting and sometimes sitting in comfortable silence. Occasionally, Jaskier would bring his lute along, and he would play gentle melodies for Geralt - who would lap up the prince's voice, the thrum of the lute under his dexterous fingers, the movement of his plump lips as he sang the ballads, and the way his eyes closed as he concentrated on his arts - with utter rapture in those shining amber eyes.

This particular morning, they sat relishing the warm sun on their skin, the stone floor of the balcony around them strewn with cherry and magnolia blossoms, making it look like an iridescent rug of the purest white and the brightest fuchsia pink. Suddenly, Jaskier reached out and took hold of Geralt's calloused hand.

"Jasky?", the Witcher asked, turning to look at his companion with an indulgent smile.

"Thank you for taking care of me."

"What do you mean?", Geralt looked genuinely puzzled.

"You know", Jaskier stated in a small voice, "I make a mess pretty much every single day, being sick and throwing up into the chamber-pot. It's so gross ... I end up feeling so wretched that you have to watch that, and you have to hold me while I..."

"Jaskier", the Witcher's tone became serious, even a tad disapproving, "How can you say such things? You are carrying a child inside you, and this is your body's way of coping with the life that's growing inside you. How can you say it's gross?"

"But it is", Jaskier insisted, not comforted by Geralt's words and still feeling extremely embarrassed (he had been feeling this way for a while, but had been unable to broach the topic so far), "It is supposed to make you feel revolted..."

"Jaskier, that will be enough", this time, Geralt's voice was stern and he looked rather vexed (Jaskier had noted how the Witcher always addressed the prince as "Jaskier" instead of "Jasky" when he got mad at him), "I am not some fickle-minded, frivolous, fair-weather friend of yours, who would fawn to you when you are all impeccably dressed and a picture of health and perfectly in control of your body, and abandon you when you are in discomfort, when you are unwell and you need someone to look after you, clean up after you, hold you close."

Jaskier's eyes teared up as he stared at his beloved Witcher, listening to the man speak. 

_Melitele, I don't know what I have done to deserve someone like him._

_Please, now that you have brought him to me, please don't take him away. Please don't make us part. My life will become empty, and in place of my heart there will be an insatiable, dark void, never to become whole again ..._

"You and I - we are lovers, Jasky. I am _supposed_ to be there for you. _Always_ ", Geralt finished, his expression intense as he stared into Jaskier's eyes.

Jaskier scooted a little closer and laid his head on Geralt's shoulder, unable to speak. His arm snaked around Geralt's, and their fingers intertwined. They sat there like that for several minutes, with the Witcher occasionally turning to plant a kiss on the prince's hair.

After a while, Geralt broke the silence. "So, you want to tell me why you insisted on bringing your sewing kit with you?"

"Ah!", Jaskier straightened, "Almost forgot."

He did not, however, choose to elaborate as he pulled the wooden box containing his needles and colourful threads and thimbles onto his lap and busied himself in threading a particularly slender needle.

Geralt raised his eyebrows at the prince now studiously ignoring him (with a mischievous smile on his face), and shook his head. He knew his darling human was up to something, and he wouldn't know of it until and unless Jaskier was done weaving whatever it was he wanted to weave. So he decided to ask something else that had been on his mind.

"May I ask you something?"

Jaskier looked at the Wolf and huffed.

"It is _this_ particular question you should stop asking me, Geralt. Like you said, we are lovers now. So ask whatever it is your mind's bothering you with."

"How come King Stephen hasn't taken any action against Alvin? For being the traitorous bastard he is?"

Jaskier smiled, a touch ruefully, "It's not like Baba didn't voice this exact thought. That Alvin deserves severe censure and repercussions for his actions against me. For hurting me, abandoning me, betraying me. He wanted to write a seriously vitriolic letter to the the King of Lyria, withdrawing all ties with his kingdom until and unless he apologized publicly for his son's actions. But I dissuaded him."

"Why?"

Jaskier paused in the task his nimble fingers were engaged in and looked up at Geralt.

"First of all, Lyria is far more powerful than Vengerberg. Their king would never have tolerated such audacious behaviour from Baba, and would likely have declared a war. And I assure you, Geralt, my broken heart will not be the cause for the deaths of thousands of innocent soldiers - _our_ innocent soldiers."

Geralt couldn't help the sudden swell of pride and admiration he felt for the man sitting next to him. The man who had stolen his heart. 

_If I had to wait another century to find you, my prince - find someone as honourable and kind as you - I would wait._

"Second, nothing would really bring back Alvin, now, would it? Such actions will just alienate his kingdom from ours. Alvin broke his vows to me, broke his promises, and declared how unworthy I am of his love. Those things cannot be undone, nor his cruel heart made to repent for his words and actions, by subjecting him to public shaming. And somewhere deep down, I just want to stay away from that man. Want to have nothing whatsoever to do with him anymore. Neither castigate him nor try to win him back nor grovel at his feet."

Geralt's jaws steadily clenched and his eyes became hard with cold rage as he heard Jaskier talk.

"It is he who is unworthy of you, Jasky", he said simply, and Jaskier threw him a fond smile, reaching out to take his hand and kiss his knuckles softly. 

"And now that my heart is not just mending ... not just being able to see the light at the end of the dark tunnel I've wandered in for a while, but the light itself is brilliant and full of promises and hope and love and joy", he squeezed Geralt's hand in his own and the Witcher very nearly preened under the trust the prince was giving him, "I honestly do not care about retribution, one way or another."

Jaskier was back to his weaving, but Geralt had one more question on his mind, and he thought this was as good a time to ask as any.

"Do you, um...", he hesitated, and Jaskier looked up at him curiously, "Do you think some part of you still loves him?"

Jaskier smiled, and Geralt noticed how it did not really reach his eyes. 

"When Alvin left, one of the greatest blessings he bestowed upon me was the _way_ he broke up, you know", Jaskier explained, "That day, when I realized how cruel, how utterly ruthless he can be, how unfeeling and uncaring - when he went ahead and hurled insults at my parents, at even my adopted sister, for making me - a prince - so soft and so foolish - I lost my respect for him. You won't see me use expletives when speaking of him, unlike Yen", he chuckled fondly, "But the two most important components of any relationship - trust and respect - I lost completely."

Geralt was having a hard time suppressing his anger, and Jaskier, with a knowing, soft smile, ran a hand down the agitated Wolf's back, trying to comfort him.

"Now, to complete answering your question", Jaskier continued, his expression pensive, though his eyes remained trained on the ground looking for fallen cherry and magnolia blossoms around him, "No, I am not in love with him anymore. But, my heart is not completely over it either. It's a process, as I'm sure you know. If I see him now, I'll likely still shed tears, still experience pain and betrayal, still be tormented by the memories of the times we spent together. But what I won't do is wonder how things could have been had Alvin been a better man, because he is not. What my heart won't yearn for is for him to come back to me, because he ... Yen's right and you're right, Geralt ... he is not a kind, loyal, honest human being, and I deserve better because I am all of those things. He is no longer someone I want in my life, and I should have known better even back then. Guess I just ignored the many warning bells ringing inside my own head."

Jaskier sighed, and sagged a little against Geralt, and the Wolf immediately wound an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a one-armed embrace. "In time", the prince continued, "I know I shall grow to become completely indifferent to him. To the cruel, promiscuous, treacherous human that he is. And in time, the memories too will stop holding any power whatsoever over me."

"In time", Geralt affirmed shortly, and his grip on Jaskier's shoulder tightened, and the prince knew that that was enough - the Witcher was putting all the things he left unsaid in that reassuring grip.

They stayed like that, Geralt staring out into the distance, and Jaskier leaning against his shoulder, his deft fingers working away. After a few minutes, the prince sat up with a dazzling smile and the look of "mischief managed" in his twinkling eyes.

"What have you done now?", Geralt said in mock exasperation, even as his own face caught on the infectious smile of his prince.

Jaskier held up the stunningly beautiful garland he had just finished weaving - its pattern comprising two consecutively placed white cherry blossoms alternating with a single large, fuchsia pink magnolia blossom - and Geralt's heart skipped a beat.

"For me?", he managed to ask weakly.

The prince nodded excitedly.

Geralt knew that in Vengerberg, it was customary, in a wedding, for the bride and the groom to exchange garlands of the purest white - made of tuberoses and gardenias. As a precursor to the observation of that tradition, many young men and women in Vengerberg would often choose to present hand-woven garlands of flowers, of any kind, to their lovers, as a sort of promise to remain loyal to them, to belong to and with them until such times their marriage vows could be exchanged and sanctified by the high priests. 

_And Jaskier was now presenting him with a garland of freshly fallen cherry and magnolia blossoms._

The prince's face fell as he watched the Witcher stare at the garland with what he mistook to be apprehension and alarm, when really Geralt was trying to process the torrent of emotions coursing through him, trying to control the pace of his racing heart. 

"It's okay if you are not ready, Geralt, I totally understand ...", he began, about to put away the garland.

Geralt reached out and gripped his wrists, stopping him.

"Who said I'm not ready, my prince?", he asked, his eyes tearing up, and a heartbeat later, Jaskier's face mirrored his expression, "It'll be an honour, Prince Julian", and slowly, Geralt of Rivia bowed his head.

_And Prince Julian of Vengerberg lovingly draped his garland around his White Wolf's head, looping it twice, until it sat like a circlet of the purest white and the most radiant pink, enhancing hundredfold the beauty of those long silver-white tresses, making Geralt look even more majestic than he already did._

*********************************************************************************************

Yennefer nearly skipped like a little girl in joy and excitement as she watched Geralt, now wreathed in the garland of cherry and magnolia blossoms, take Jaskier's hands in his own and kiss the palms softly, sensuously, all the while looking deep into the prince's eyes, then pulled Jaskier into an embrace.

She hadn't meant to follow them. She had been looking for Jaskier, to give him and the baby the regular check-ups she had scheduled for them once every few weeks. But not having found him in his chambers nor in Geralt's, and then hearing from Eskel where the duo usually headed to each morning, she had come out onto the balcony in search of them.

_Oh Melitele, let them stay this way - forever in love, forever in each other's arms, forever supporting each other, standing shoulder to shoulder._

She offered up a silent but fervent prayer to the goddess, before quietly leaving the two to their cuddling and affectionate touches and caresses and heading back towards her own chambers. She would check on Jaskier's and the baby's health in the afternoon.

But even as she stepped inside her study and shut the door behind her, she felt the presence of an uncanny energy in the room. Instantly, her eyes were drawn towards the curiously shaped amulet, hewn of a rare scarlet-hued stone, an amber-gold fire throbbing deep in its very centre, that sat inside a crystal box on her table. She knew that it was the source of the magical disturbance she felt permeating the air around her.

Among the many purposes this amulet served for her, one was to communicate with the many mages of lesser power and influence who worked under her supervision, most of them part of a rather impressive network of spies she had recruited through years of patient planning, and who now served the kingdom of Vengerberg, without the slightest knowledge of the king and the queen. Neither King Stephen nor Queen Parveen favoured anything remotely duplicitous, and that included the employment of spies to poke around for news and secrets of happenings in other kingdoms (or even their own). Yennefer couldn't disagree more with them on this one topic, and she had, therefore (as was her wont), chosen to simply not reveal to them that her spies continued to gather information for her, traveling far and wide across the Continent.

The amulet was currently vibrating and glowing, the entirety of it now alight with a fiery orange light, and Yennefer knew it would be scalding to the touch. Nonetheless, she brought her face close to it and peered into its depths.

"What news?", she asked in a low but commanding voice.

"News from Rivia, Your Excellency", a voice replied, coming from the depths of the stone amulet, sounding distant but heard with perfect clarity.

"Josephine?"

"Aye, Your Excellency. Something's going on here. Princess Leona - she is dead."

"What?!!"

"Aye. No one knows how she died. She had gone to visit her betrothed, Prince Alvin, in Lyria, and she stayed there for a few weeks. Word is, she became very ill towards the end of her stay, and had to be rushed back to Rivia. She succumbed last night."

"And you have absolutely no idea about the nature of her illness?"

"None, Your Excellency. Only the royal family knows. Leona's brother, Prince Arnold, himself went to fetch her, and I could not glean anything from the retinue of soldiers and footmen who went with him, nor the bearers of the palanquin that brought back the princess."

"And Rivia hasn't questioned, hasn't challenged the royal family of Lyria for answers?", Yen asked in an incredulous tone.

"Not yet, and they won't, if you ask for my opinion, Your Excellency. Lyria is far more powerful than Rivia. Challenging Lyria may mean a war between the two neighbours, and Rivia would be crushed by Lyria's military within a week."

Yennefer's jaws clenched, and her eyes burned.

"Keep me updated with any further information you can extricate, Josephine. You did well."

"Thank you, Your Excellency. I live to serve", and the voice coming through the amulet faded.

Yennefer straightened, her face looking pallid and drained of all colours, and her frame shaking slightly.

_Oh Melitele ... I was so relieved that the bastard, Alvin, was going to get married to Leona, and that would be that - good riddance!_

_But now ... if he comes to claim his baby ... oh sweet Melitele, have mercy! Preserve my little brother! Please keep him safe ... keep my darling human safe from the clutches of that monster!_

**********************************************************************************************


	10. Beginning with music, sealing it with a kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeeeee they finally took one more step towards growing even more intimate !! Yipppeeee, and sorry that I am someone who absolutely loves slowburn romance (so hang in there for more ha ha!).
> 
> Okay, this chapter is very ... musical. And so, to give you all a glimpse of the kind of songs I have been imagining for my characters, here is a list:  
> 1) The amazing Renaissance lute composition https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OCpF2cwm_04 suggested by my reader and new friend panofaar - so grateful for this suggestion!  
> 2) This one is what I imagined Jaskier playing on his lute: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xD5H1o9oOOo  
> 3) I think this particular melody would be very suitable for what Geralt played: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-5qhNRmMilI  
> 4) This one will go nicely as Yen's piece: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VHqa15jtRPY  
> 5) Another piece I found recently, though not suitable for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkpG-_v0yPc

The next evening, they all gathered for dinner in the private dining hall of the palace.

For some reason, Yen was failing to retain her usual placid composure. She sat next to King Stephen, pushing the food around on her plate, seeming unable to focus on the gourmet fare as well as the conversation across the dinner table. 

"Yen", Geralt fixed his best friend with a skeptical stare after she failed to answer, for the fifith time, Queen Parveen calling her name, "Is something the matter?"

"Wha-oh no, nothing", the sorceress said, appearing to rouse herself from some deep stupor with difficulty - so unlike her. She looked around her to realize that even Lambert was throwing her a slightly disconcerting look, and hastily cleared her throat. "I guess I'm just tired, ha ha", she attempted to laugh it off, though Geralt and Eskel weren't fooled, "How about this? After dinner, we gather in the music room for some time?"

"Yes!", Jaskier immediately perked up, looking utterly delighted, "I can bring my lute?"

"Of course, Jask", Yen threw her beloved brother an indulgent smile, "And Geralt can bring his flute."

"Wait, what?", Jaskier rounded on his lover sitting next to him, who promptly blushed crimson.

"Oh, he didn't tell you?", Yen laughed, and Geralt glared at her.

"At Kaer Morhen, we were each asked to choose a hobby - some activity to calm our frayed nerves down after battles and hunts", explained Eskel while still sniggering at Geralt's adorably embarrassed expression, "Geralt chose to learn the flute, I chose card tricks, and Lambert", he slapped the older and far grumpier Witcher sitting next to him on the back and Lambert groaned, "Well, Lambert just chose to sleep."

The entire table erupted in laughter.

**********************************************

It turned out that Yennefer's idea had been an excellent one.

It was one of the nights the three Witchers were supposed to stay indoors and catch up on sleep instead of venturing out to patrol the outskirts. Right after Jaskier had figured out that despite the immense resilience and strength of his mutant system, night after night of staying up and standing vigil had taken a toll on Geralt's body, he had discussed the matter at length with his Baba, Yennefer and the captain of the city-guard. They had all agreed, despite all three of Geralt, Eskel and Lambert vehemently protesting, that between Yennefer's protective wards and strengthening of the city's garrison, and the expertise of the Witchers, it would be enough if Geralt and his brothers patrolled the perimeter every alternate night. All three Witchers had grumbled at first, but eventually caved.

The music room, adjoining the dining space, was a spacious parlour with comfortable, upholstered settees and couches strewn across it, and an imposing grand piano set against a wall, made of dark, polished maple hardwood. Yen perched herself elegantly on the tiny but plush divan right in front of the piano, while Jaskier and Geralt sat close to her on either side, one cradling his lute and the other his flute, in full view of their four eager audiences.

Jaskier watched with fascination the slender bamboo-carved wind-instrument the White Wolf held delicately between his thumbs and forefingers. The polished wood shone a lovely pastel ochre, with darker stripes barely visible along its length, and was adorned with slim red and black bands at regular intervals around its cross section. There was even a bunch of silken red strings that were plaited together and tied around one end of the flute.

Yennefer was the first to play them a piece - her dainty fingers flew over the black and white keys, coaxing out a sprightly melody that had everyone swaying and tapping their feet, and Jaskier almost jumped up to break into a solo waltz until he saw six pairs of eyes glaring at him and promptly sat back down with a hand on his tummy, smiling sheepishly.

It was the prince's turn next, and he decided to play on his lute a ballad that was filled with wistful longing. It spoke of distant lands and wild, snow-clad mountains, of seas and oceans uncharted and islands unconquered by mankind, of wearied travelers on journeys that had taken them far from home, through dense, sombre forests full of mysterious, otherworldly creatures. He played and sang with a far-off look in his eyes, and his gaze, more often than not, rested upon his noble, beautiful, beloved White Wolf who watched him with an expression softer than Jaskier could have imagined on that usually grouchy face. The more he sang, the more he imagined what it must be like to travel alongside Geralt - to experience life on the roads, camping with his beloved, taking care of him after he came back from monster-hunts, seeing new places and meeting new people hand in hand with him.

_And the more his imaginations took hold of his heart, the deeper became his conviction that his place, in this lifetime or any other, was by Geralt's side, and nowhere else._

Finally, after the last strum of Jaskier's lute had faded away into the night, six pairs of eager eyes turned to the white-haired Witcher. Geralt had never seemed so shy and hesitant as he did now, flushed scarlet and fidgeting underneath the expectant gazes trained upon him. 

"Um, I, uh, haven't practiced in a while..."

"Geralt, please", Eskel cut his stammering short, rolling his eyes, "Lambert and I are present in this room - please don't forget. We both know how adept you are at this, practice or no." Turning to the rest of the room, he explained, "He learned from Vesemir - our Da - who is probably one of the most gifted flute players across the Continent, though of course, few know about this particular proficiency of his."

And that just heightened everyone's expectations. Geralt threw Eskel a reproachful look before adjusting the flute in his hands, and nervously cleared his throat. He looked up tentatively at Jaskier, his eyes seeking reassurance, and the prince, feeling like his heart would explode, nodded encouragingly at him.

"Very well", said Geralt, "I am going to play a melody that I learned from Da when I came back to Kaer Morhen for the first time, after being on the Path for more than five years. I was so homesick I nearly collapsed into his arms when I saw him waiting outside the keep's outer walls, his arms held out and his eyes full of tears." His face lit up with a nostalgic smile full of love and tenderness and fond memories, "I had never seen Da so relieved, so happy to see someone. He had feared that I had perished somewhere far out on the Path, not having seen me for so long. That night, when I went to his chambers, he sat me down and taught me this melody."

Jaskier stared at his Wolf - so open and honest and vulnerable - with a lump in his throat and tears he was surreptitiously trying to blink back as he hung on to every word that came out of the Witcher's mouth, enthralled. And Geralt now looked up to train his intense gaze upon the young prince in front of him, his gold eyes filling with endless adoration and love.

"This melody - it speaks of home. Of our longing to return home, of our home calling out forever to our heavy hearts as we travel farther and farther away, imploring us to come back. It binds us to those who mean the world to us, in whose arms - in whose embrace - we find home. To whom we yearn to come back, and without whom, our world is but listless and empty."

Jaskier felt like his lungs had stopped drawing breaths, his eyes had stopped blinking, and the entire, hushed music room had just shrunk to the two of them - the White Wolf and the prince - unable to tear their eyes off each other.

"And sometimes, you find home in the unlikeliest of places, among the unlikeliest of people, and among the purest, most wonderful of hearts."

With that, Geralt turned to Yennefer, who was looking from him to Jaskier with a smirk on her face. "I would need you to play the piano in the background. You remember the notes?". She nodded, and turned back towards the piano, even as Geralt lifted the flute to his lips.

The notes he blew were clear and lilting - like the long-drawn calls of larks circling high in the sky, like wood thrushes warbling, unseen among the foliage, like beautiful golden orioles calling out earnestly to their mates. The haunting, pensive notes rose and fell, filling all hearts in the room with unfulfilled longing and a desire to keep their precious ones close, never letting them go.

_And all the time that Geralt played the sweet yet melancholy melody, his eyes remained riveted upon the face of his Jaskier, filled with love and longing and beseeching ... as if hoping the music would convey to the prince exactly what he was - what he meant- to his Wolf ..._

_... and Jaskier understood ..._

_... that just as with each passing day, Geralt had grown to become Jaskier's world ..._

_... so had the prince grown to become synonymous with home and belonging to his White Wolf ..._

_... the home the Witcher would always, in the end, return to, no matter how far life led him away from it, no matter what trials and tribulations it threw in his path._

*******************************************************

As everyone started trickling out the doors after murmuring hushed but fond goodnight's and feeling utterly sated and happy, Jaskier, who was carefully putting his lute away in its cloth case, felt a warm hand on the small of his back.

"Hello, love", Jaskier's face positively lit up at the sight of his darling Wolf standing behind him, beaming.

"Walk with me, my heart?"

"With pleasure, my darling."

They stepped out onto the sprawling garden that surrounded the entirety of the palace within its inner walls, Jaskier's right hand firmly clasped in Geralt's left. The night was refreshingly cool, and a slight breeze blew, ruffling their hairs and making them close their eyes and inhale deeply.

"Let's take off our shoes, darling", Jaskier suggested.

And so they did. They now walked barefoot, their feet sinking up to the ankles in the soft, pleasantly ticklish bed of deep grass that mantled the earth, their soles steadily growing wet from the dewdrops that clung to their skin. Geralt felt lighter than he had in a very, very long time as he relished the scent of his mate close by his side, the feel of his delicate hand secure and snug in his own, the feel of the soft grass underneath his feet and the view of the midnight-blue sky overhead, bejeweled with pinpricks of stars glittering like innumerable diamonds scattered across its vast expanse.

"I have something for you", he said after a few minutes, and Jaskier turned his beautiful, glimmering blue orbs upon the Witcher.

"In Kaedwen, which is where I spent almost all my life until I set out on the Path for the first time, they have a tradition. It's quite similar to yours, actually. So, um, if you wish for yourself - your heart - to be promised to someone until the time you can actually marry them, you prepare some gift - any gift - for them with your own hands. That's the one condition - it must be fully prepared by you, preferably with ingredients collected from Mother Nature."

With that, he pulled out something small from the pocket of his waistcoat and held it out to Jaskier, who very gingerly took it in his palm, his expression full of incredulous joy and overflowing love.

_It was a little horse, fashioned mid-gallop - lithe and regal and proud, with its beautiful mane fluttering in the wind and its head raised in a triumphant neigh - whittled out of pale yellow, fragrant pinewood. And on its back sat an armoured warrior - tall, majestic, grimly powerful, with his suggestive pony-tail and cascading hair fanning out around him, and two swords peeking out from behind him._

"I used Roach as my model for the horse", explained Geralt, smiling shyly, "I went out in the afternoon to collect the piece of pinewood. Not sure if you can tell, but that's me on her back."

Jaskier closed his hand around the precious gift, and with his other hand, clasped Geralt's arm.

"Geralt ..."

"It symbolizes me - my entire being - now promised to you, my prince", the Witcher said, his eyes downcast and a blush creeping up the pale skin of his neck, "My heart now belongs to you. Resides inside your rib-cage. It's yours, until the day I am no more, Jaskier."

"I am not sure if I deserve such a priceless treasure, dearest, but I accept it humbly, and I am going to keep it safe, for as long as I live, Geralt."

"I am not sure _I_ deserve _you_ , Jaskier", said Geralt, and his smile became a tad rueful, "You deserve someone with less blood on their hands, with less ..."

Jaskier stepped closer and put his hand lightly over Geralt's mouth. "Geralt, the more you denigrate yourself, the more it hurts me, you know", he said in a pleading tone, tears pricking his eyes.

Geralt knew Jaskier was sincere - that the prince would indeed hurt if he continued to speak with such self-deprecation and self-loathing. Slowly, he raised his hand and caught the prince's fingers that still rested upon his lips.

"Kaedwen's tradition, however, needs one more step. One last thing to seal the promise."

"What is that?"

Geralt did not answer. Instead, he put his hands on the prince's arms, and slowly, one infinitesimal inch at a time, he started leaning towards his human.

And Jaskier's heart almost lurched to a stop, then started beating at a mad, hurtling pace with the anticipation of what was to come. His breaths became rapid and shallow, and his eyes fluttered closed, even as he himself leaned forward, hoping to meet his White Wolf midway ...

... but then, something got in the way ...

... and Jaskier looked down at his bulging belly now pressed against Geralt's midriff !

The two men broke into a fit of giggles, holding on to each for support, and Jaskier felt he had never seen Geralt this happy, this effusive, this brimming with joy and excitement.

"Hold on, I'll angle myself", Geralt said, after hiccuping himself out of his spell of mirth. He moved a little towards Jaskier's left, so that now his midsection was pressed to the side of the prince's tummy. 

And now, Geralt's right hand came up to rest on Jaskier's upper back, while his left hand slipped down to rest, splayed possessively, on the prince's growing tummy. Jaskier, in turn, let his left arm loop around his Wolf's waist to rest on his lower back, and his right hand came to lie on top of Geralt's left, pressing it further against his skin, as if he could not get enough of his Witcher's touch.

And standing like that, the two men stared into each other's eyes, wanting to commit this moment to their memory, until ...

_... Geralt leaned in to brush his lips against the pale, plump lips of his human, as if teasing - testing the waters - ..._

_... and Jaskier gasped and leaned into his mouth, immediately trying to deepen the kiss ..._

_... and Geralt let out a deep chuckle before obliging, closing the distance and snatching up Jaskier's lips in a more passionate kiss ..._

_... their lips moulded seamlessly, like the fitting together of pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, and moved in perfect tandem ..._

_... until Geralt pressed his tongue, commanding and adroit, against Jaskier's lips, demanding entry, and with a sweet, sweet moan the younger man yielded, parting his lips ..._

_... and his Witcher's tongue darted in, tasting his mouth, making the prince feel like his stomach was tingling with a thousand frantic butterflies and his knees about to give way ..._

_... and he himself wasted little time in inserting his own tongue into Geralt's mouth and exploring it eagerly ..._

_... and the two lovers luxuriated in the tastes of each other, Geralt letting out unhesitating moans of "Mmm, Jasky! Oh, Jaskier!" and Jaskier, equally helplessly, whimpering Geralt's name into the Wolf's mouth ..._

_... their hands wandering over each other's frames - Jaskier's tangling in Geralt's tresses and tugging slightly or roving all over his back, while Geralt's rubbed up and down the prince's back and caressed the tautening skin of his belly ..._

This was probably what bliss felt like. To completely give in to love, to desire, to the desperate _need_ to have each other close - as close as possible - to melt into each other's embrace and to stay there for life - never again letting go.

When they were finally forced to part, rather reluctantly, even the Witcher was breathless and panting, and the prince was literally gasping for air.

"Jasky, you okay?", Geralt managed to ask while his lungs worked to draw breath, his hands supporting Jaskier on his back and underneath his belly.

"Yeah, yeah, oh!", the prince grinned euphorically, "I'm okay. Oh wow!"

They started laughing again, tearing up as they tried to steady themselves. And it was a good thing that Geralt held on to his lover, as otherwise the prince's knees would have buckled, weak as he felt from the prolonged and passionate kiss.

"Let's head back inside", said Geralt, concerned that Jaskier might catch cold if they stayed out too long.

Jaskier immediately shuffled closer, and Geralt put an arm around his shoulder, and cradling the prince's belly with his other hand, he started leading them back towards the palace.

And the twinkling stars seemed to wax in joy as they smiled down upon the two lovers now slowly walking across the palace lawn, arms around each other.


	11. Is this the beginning of the end?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is, frankly speaking, an odd mix of tender affection and rather awful suspense. But I am trying to build up the story that way ;-) So please, enjoy the growing intimacy (and I promise there's more to come, and they will be quite explicit as the story progresses) between the White Wolf and the prince, and then (hopefully) feel the growing fear for the safety of our beloved characters gnaw at your hearts :-D :-D AND AS USUAL, PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW !! LOOK FORWARD TO YOUR COMMENTS :-D

As the days went by - too quickly, it seemed, to Jaskier's displeasure, now that he felt so happy and full of optimism - the prince and his White Wolf grew closer and closer to each other.

Except for the nights that Geralt had to go out for his patrols as the Sentinel of Vengerberg, and except for those times of the day he trained with Eskel and Lambert in the yard or attended meetings with the king and Yennefer and other personnel of the city's garrison, he spent nearly every waking moment of his life in Vengerberg in the company of his lover. Of late, the prince had even insisted that they sleep next to each other in the same bed at night, and Geralt had happily acquiesced to the suggestion.

So it was that the prince and his Witcher would spend hours basking in each other's warmth while sitting in bed, arms looped around each other and fingers intertwined, one resting his head comfortably on the other's shoulder. They talked about anything and everything under the sun, and Jaskier was always eager to know more about Geralt's expeditions, though the Witcher would mildly admonish the prince for asking for the gory details of every battle he fought against malicious dark creatures.

"Jasky, why do you always veer our conversations towards my hunts? Aren't you supposed to be repulsed by them? And is it even good for the baby? Aren't you supposed to listen to something calming and soothing rather than accounts of violent skirmishes with dreadful monsters?"

And of course, Jaskier would let out a trilling laughter and clasp his Beloved's hand reassuringly.

"Trust me, Geralt, these adventures of yours are way too interesting to pass up. In fact I am writing all the details down, here", and he would pick up his notebook from the bedside table and show his chronicling to his horrified lover, "I sneak the tales of your glorious victories into these pages when you take naps or go train in the yard, and I am going to compile a book one day, singing the praises of the heroic White Wolf of Rivia. You'll see!"

He would wink mischievously at the adorably flustered Witcher and Geralt would resignedly shake his head.

They would sit in the balcony adjoining the prince's chambers, or in one of the terrace-gardens, soaking up the warmth of the summer sun, their arms around each other. They would walk through the gardens hand in hand while enjoying the views of the city and the immaculately blue skies overhead, sometimes collecting flowers to bring back for the empty vases in Jaskier's room. 

And more often than not, their lips would be upon one another, whether to plant chaste pecks or to be locked in deep, passionate, all-engulfing kisses with frequent, soft moans filling the air around them as they held each other close, their hands hovering all over each other's backs, arms, shoulders, and in Geralt's case, over Jaskier's belly.

The prince was now quite heavy with child, though he was far from due, and there were still a few months left. He would grow easily fatigued, and for this reason, Geralt tried to dissuade him from going out for walks on his own. As long as the Wolf was with him, though, the prince had little to worry about, as Geralt would simply pick him up bridal style and carry him back to his chambers, his steps quick and nimble and yet somehow still managing to jostle Jaskier as little as possible. And the Witcher would lay him down so gingerly, so tenderly upon his bed that the prince would feel his heart bursting with love. The Witcher would then either sit beside Jaskier's prone form, leaning against the headboard, or curl up next to him and let him snuggle into his broad chest, offering any comfort he could until the prince dozed off.

Jaskier would request, once every week, one of his attendants to fetch books from the library - usually tomes on mythological tales and bestiaries detailing highly unusual and mysterious creatures, many of which were either extremely rare or had gone extinct - and he would hoard these in his own room, to read with Geralt in the evenings. They would sit huddled together on the bed, Jaskier usually sagging against Geralt's shoulder - heavy as he was and unable to sit up straight for too long - their heads together and their eyes avidly devouring the yellowed pages of the ancient tomes. And Geralt would add his own knowledge - amassed from decades of extensive traveling as well as from books he read back in Kaer Morhen - to the discussions that would follow.

"Some day, Jasky, I would love for you to sit in Kaer Morhen's amazing, amazing library and study", Geralt would say, his eyes looking into the distance as if trying to visualize a future far ahead in time, and his fingers lovingly threading through Jaskier's silky hair.

"I can't wait for that day, Beloved", Jaskier would say in a whisper, his eyes sparkling with the possibility of visiting the Continent's biggest (and perhaps most fiercely guarded) library that was rumoured to house many archaic volumes of secret lore, including restricted magic and handwritten notes on alchemy by ancient mages of immense potential - knowledge now all but lost to humanity.

Most evenings, they chose to have dinner in Jaskier's chambers, though sometimes they would join the others in the private dining space of the palace. Geralt was ever careful of Jaskier's diet, knowing full well the prince was a total epicure who would want to lay his hands on every gourmet dish he could. 

On the nights that Geralt had to leave, Jaskier would automatically become quieter and his usual gushing, effusive demeanour would disappear as the evenings progressed. Geralt knew he was loath to let his White Wolf leave and worried constantly for his safety. It would break Geralt's heart to see his darling prince retract into a shell, and he would reach out, pulling the mournful human towards himself and cocooning him, baby bump and all, in his arms. 

"I am coming back. You will see me lying next to you when you wake up tomorrow morning. You know that, right, silly human?", he would murmur into Jaskier's ear, rocking him back and forth, and the poor prince would gulp and nod. 

"Please be safe, Geralt. Please. I ... I can't ...", and he would choke, and Geralt would squeeze his frame tighter. "I will be. And I will always come back to you."

On other nights, however, the prince's relief and happiness at being able to keep his lover close were palpable. For those nights, the two settled into a comfortable routine. They would read together for some time in the candlelight, then either go for a short walk to the closest terrace-garden or stand shoulder to shoulder in the balcony and admire the night sky. Jaskier would usually insist on brewing some nice hot tea himself (he liked to cook, though life in the palace offered little opportunities to the prince to pursue such an unusual hobby). He loved chamomile, and Geralt favoured that tea as well, since it usually proved rather effective in lulling him to sleep. And the prince would add lots of crushed ginger, dollops of honey and a very generous amount of freshly squeezed lemon juice into the steaming hot tea, just as his beloved Wolf liked it.

Once they finished sipping their tea while sitting holding hands and staring into each other's eyes, they would make their way to the bedroom.

Geralt would first pour some of the medicinal potions Yennefer left in the cabinet into a chalice, and offer it to Jaskier, who usually downed it with a grimace that would make Geralt giggle. Then, Geralt would help Jaskier strip to his chemise and smallclothes and help him lie comfortably on the bed, his back propped up against a mountain of pillows. The Witcher himself would change into his nightclothes and come back to the bedside, with a vial of lotion (also prepared by Yen) in his hand.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he would gently roll up the chemise covering Jaskier up to his chest, revealing the rotund tummy. Pouring out some of the fragrant lotion onto his palms, the Witcher would throw his prince (watching him always with such a rapt, insatiably hungry gaze) a fond smile before smearing it all over the taut skin of the belly. His extremely warm, calloused palms would gently massage every bit of Jaskier's belly as the prince's eyes fluttered and he almost arched his back to get as much as possible of his Beloved's touches.

"Geralt ...", the prince would almost wheeze, suddenly breathless, and Geralt would chuckle.

"I know, dear heart", and the Wolf would take more of the balm, and spread some onto the pale pink stretch marks that adorned the lower regions of Jaskier's deliciously large, round belly, running his fingers feather-light over the ridged surfaces of the marks.

"I wish those marks weren't marring my skin", Jaskier would whine with a pout.

Geralt would throw the prince a glare which would immediately make Jaskier shut up.

"How many times have I asked you not to criticize your body, Jaskier?", the Wolf would inquire, not softening his voice, "You are utterly, absolutely beautiful. Just as you are. And I love every bit of you, including all the changes happening to your body because of the pregnancy."

Jaskier would smile at his Witcher, cupping his face, eyes brimming with tears. 

And Geralt, trying not to remain miffed with his Beloved, would focus back on the stretch marks. He would caress them tenderly, before lowering his head to start planting soft, open-mouthed kisses all over the belly, his warm breath tickling the skin.

And Jaskier would moan weakly, his eyes closing, his head automatically careening backwards, his hands clutching the sheets in a white-knuckled grip as his lover continued to shower soft, wet kisses on the tight skin of his bulging belly. Slowly, Geralt would scoot forward to have better access to his human's exposed throat, and he would continue pressing hot, wet kisses on Jaskier's jawline and chin, on his throbbing Adam's apple, on the crook of his neck, on his partially revealed clavicles. Gradually, the Witcher would ease the moaning, quivering prince onto his back, adjusting the pillow underneath his head, and capture his lips in a long, deep, ardent kiss. 

"Beloved, please ..."

"Patience, dear heart. Let our love grow. Let our need for each other grow", Geralt would answer with a smile and a wink and Jaskier would groan, for he knew full-well that while his own body was aching with need, the Witcher would draw this out for maximum pleasure.

The Wolf, after having pressed an adoring kiss on his Beloved's forehead and one last kiss on the heavily pregnant prince's belly, murmuring a soft goodnight against the skin there, would walk around to the other side and roll onto the bed, covering both himself and Jaskier's body with the sheets and putting his arms around his human. And Jaskier would immediately shuffle closer to him, burying his head in his Witcher's chest, knowing that he and their little one were safe in the confines of Geralt's body.

And so the lovers would fall asleep, cuddling each other.

************************************************************************

"Jask, is the backache persisting?", Yen's voice sounded concerned as they all sat down to eat breakfast one Sunday morning.

Queen Parveen immediately shifted closer to her son and placed a hand on the small of his back, rubbing soothing circles. "Oh my sweet child ..."

"Oh come on, Ma!", Jaskier muttered, embarrassed at this open expression of affection and worry from his mother, and wondering what Geralt would think of him, "I am okay. Didn't you say it's quite normal during pregnancy?"

"It is", affirmed Yen, "You are almost seven and a half months along now, and the additional weight is putting quite a bit of pressure on your spine, Jask."

"What can I do to help, Yen?", Geralt asked urgently, his forehead puckered in an anxious frown, "I have been applying the hot water bottle to his back every night before he goes to sleep, just as you instructed."

"That'll do for now, Geralt", she reached out and placed a reassuring hand on her best friend's arm, "He'll be fine."

That night, Geralt made Jaskier lie down on the bed, then carefully supported his belly as the prince ponderously turned on his side. Quickly, Geralt poured the water he had just boiled into the brass bottle, corked it, and wrapped it up in several layers of soft cloth. 

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he started pressing the hot water bottle onto Jaskier's lower back, massaging and hoping it would soothe the prince a bit.

"I'll be alright, my Beloved", Jaskier murmured, his eyes already tending to slip closed as his body gave in to the day's exhaustion.

"You're in too much pain, Jasky, and you seem so tired all the time. Is this normal? Yen seems a bit concerned too ... I know some discomfort is to be expected at such an advanced stage of pregnancy ...", Geralt trailed off, the worried frown back on his face, his other hand softly rubbing all over his human's huge belly.

He received no answer except an incoherent mumbling, followed by the soft snores of Jaskier. The poor thing had fallen asleep within minutes of lying down on the bed.

Geralt knew he had to leave for the patrol, but for some reason, his heart really, really did not want to leave his pregnant lover's side. 

_Something was holding him back, urging him to stay. To keep his human safe in his arms. To not let him sleep alone tonight._

_Some foreboding weighed down upon his heart - what could it be? Was Jaskier in some sort of danger? Was the little one alright?_

Tearing himself from his precious human's side, he decided that he would have to go, because it was equally important to keep the kingdom safe from intrusions by dark creatures and dark magic (else Jaskier would be vulnerable too). But on his way, he would drop by Yen's chambers to request her that she keep an eye on Jaskier for the night.

*********************************************************************

Jaskier came awake with a jolt.

He had tried to turn on his back in his sleep, and that had just exacerbated the ache in his lower back, causing him to be roused from his sleep. Or so his groggy mind surmised for the first few seconds of his coming awake.

Until a searing pain erupted in his abdomen and shot through his entire system. Like a white-hot iron branding every organ in his body. Like a wickedly sharp scythe slicing through him, shredding every fibre of his being. 

Jaskier's frame went rigid in excruciating agony as his hands came up to press on either side of his belly, trying to somehow - anyhow - stall the unendurable pain that had his lower abdomen in a vice-like grip. The pregnant prince's face contorted, his chest rose and fell like a blacksmith's bellow being pushed beyond its limits, his whole body started perspiring with the effort of drawing one ragged breath after another, and an anguished wail was torn from his throat.

***********************************************************************

Something was wrong.

_Something was horribly wrong with Jaskier, and Geralt was not with him._

_Or..._

_Or something was about to happen - someone was going to be in mortal peril - and Geralt needed to get away from the perimeter wall._

The White Wolf nearly cried out in crippling fear and pain as he tried to grapple with the overwhelming sense of impending doom that settled like a boulder on his chest, making him writhe in agony.

_Jasky!_

_Baby, hang in there!_

He knew he couldn't just abandon his post where he stood vigil close to the outermost southern ramparts of the city. And yet, his feet tried to drag him back towards the palace, back towards his Beloved. His body tried to disobey every last command of his conscious mind, and he felt as if someone had tied an invisible rope around his waist, and was inexorably pulling him back towards Jaskier.

Geralt knew, from years and years of experiences, that his instincts usually did not lie. If such an all-pervading premonition was engulfing his senses, dousing his every nerve in molten fire, then something was truly about to transpire - something life-changing for him, and usually not in a positive way. He would be a fool to ignore this call that came from deep within his subconscious where his magic resided.

He shouted to the two soldiers who flanked him, a few feet apart on either side, to keep a close eye on the perimeter, stating that he would be back soon. 

It wouldn't take long. His mutant body could run as fast as a warhorse in full gallop when the need arose. At an all-out loping sprint, he could go make sure Jaskier was alright and be back within half an hour. And he would send out signals, through his medallion, to Eskel and Lambert to be extra vigilant during his absence.

And so he did. 

But he had gone only about a mile from the bastion he had been standing on when he felt his medallion vibrate and glow a sullen ember-red.

_Monsters!_

_They were here!_

_They had somehow succeeded in breaching the line of defense!_

_Which meant that the soldiers patrolling the outermost ramparts were probably dead or severely wounded, and the magical wards were shattered!_

With a reverberating cry of frustration, pain and almost nauseating fear at what threats this fateful night posed for his pregnant Beloved, Geralt skidded to a halt and whirled around, loosening his silver sword from its sheath in one fluid motion.

And came face to face with a leering fleder, foaming at its blood-red mouth, its leathery arms raised and talons ready to tear the Witcher apart.

And even as Geralt severed its sorry head from its sinewy, revoltingly glistening torso in one smooth arc of his blade, a dozen more plummeted from the sky above, their pinions stretched out, their eyes burning with lurid red flames and their mouths agape in deadly maws, immediately hemming him in.

_How had these abominable creatures breached the protective spells cast by Yennefer and the Witchers and invaded in such large numbers?_

_And more were still dropping from high above._

Geralt knew this was going to be a very, very tough fight. And he was not entirely sure he would make it out alive.

Frantic, he willed his still-scalding-to-the-touch medallion to send for help - to urge Eskel and Lambert to sprint to his aid. Alone, he would almost certainly be killed.

And deep down, his heart twisted with an unprecedented, intense feeling of regret and pain.

_Jasky! Baby, I wish I could see you again!_

_Just one last glimpse of that dear, beautiful face!_

_One last hug, pulling you into my warm embrace, kissing your lips, caressing your belly ..._

_Oh, how I wish I could be there for you when you give birth ..._

_... give birth to our little one, sweetheart ..._

_... how I wish I could see her grow up, be her doting father ..._

But there was no time to spare on such futile thoughts. The enemies were creeping closer and closer, from all sides at once, and Geralt would be damned if he did not take down as many of these nefarious bastards with him as he could.

With a resounding battle cry he surged forth, his sword, held in both hands, hacking and hewing left and right, cutting through muscle and bones and sinews like they were butter. Geralt of Rivia danced amidst his hideous foes, his white hair shimmering in the moonlight, sword swinging and swishing and parrying and thrusting, his body automatically gliding from one stance to another in the blink of an eye.

And for every fleder whose dismembered, bleeding corpse toppled to the ground, a new one fell from the sky and took its place. The Witcher steadily grew more and more weary, his arms aching from brandishing his sword, his shirt drenched in sweat, his whole body shaking with exhaustion.

_The end is drawing nearer and nearer ..._

_Jasky, my Beloved - my everything - stay happy, stay healthy, stay blessed ..._

_Look after our daughter ..._

Through the corner of his eye, Geralt glimpsed something odd.

A slender humanoid form, draped in an eeriely white cloak. A face that was too pallid and bloodless to be human. Eyes black as the night and glittering with some cruel purpose. A mouth curled in a blood-curdling smile, revealing rows of extremely sharp, pointed fangs ...

_A nekurat!!_

But that was most unusual! Nekurats, or nosferats as some called them, were proud and extremely intelligent and cunning vampires who would definitely not want to connive with lesser vampires such as fleders whom they looked down upon with contempt! 

And yet, this particular nekurat was clearly not acting alone. 

And if Geralt didn't know better, he would've thought that the fleders were really just a distraction.

_For what?_

He was now completely beset on all sides with a teeming brood of fleders, and while he tried to fend off their viciously snapping teeth and claws, he realized that the deviously sly nekurat was slinking closer ...

_Eskel! Lambert! Brothers, where are you?_

_I cannot hold them back long ..._

_Please, make sure these bloodthirsty monsters don't make it to the palace ..._

_Please, oh please, look after my Jasky ..._

And right when he felt he would be smothered by the swarm of abhorrent, malevolent monsters, he sensed the nekurat right behind him ...

_... and before he could turn around to run her through with a quick riposte ..._

_... she bit into his arm ..._

_... her wickedly long, razor-sharp fangs piercing the stout armour and sinking deep into his flesh ..._

_... and something else ... something lethal and completely alien, being driven into his arm with the force of the bite ..._

Geralt howled in pain. His body arched backwards - almost beautifully - and his sword clattered to the ground ...

This was it ... the fleders would now pounce upon him and tear off every bit of exposed flesh, rending them to shreds with their deadly claws. They would start with his throat, ripping off his jugular vein ...

And yet, as he fell almost agonizingly slowly, and glimpsed, through the rapidly descending veil of fog over his eyes, two familiar figures sprinting towards him with silver swords raised high above their heads, along with someone - a woman - with a cape fluttering behind her, he realized that the fleders had stopped attacking the moment the nekurat had bitten into his arm.

And then, darkness took him.


	12. A dark shadow is descending upon us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains 2 distinct parts: one which required me to study Braxton Hicks contractions during pregnancy in detail, and talks about a rather vulnerable Jaskier. Hope you enjoy that (and the clue therein for some steamy scenes to appear in future chapters). I have tried to keep this part as natural and realistic as possible - so no, not everything is rosy and perfect in it because pregnancy is messy.
> 
> The other is where the mystery deepens. Something is very wrong - dark magic is brewing some rather grim trouble for Geralt and Jaskier and all those who love these two. Please let me know how you like the suspense. The suspense will keep building... so please, hang in there! AND REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW PLEEEEEASE :-D
> 
> Thanks to panofaar for suggesting scenes of how supportive Eskel and Lambert are towards our very pregnant Jaskier. And that last line is, of course, borrowed from Aragorn's quote in LOTR.

Jaskier wasn't sure how he was supposed to survive quite this much pain.

He was quite familiar with mild, even moderate, cramps from during his first and even second trimesters. But this was different. Instead of the dull, throbbing pain, this was acute beyond what he believed was his capacity for endurance. It felt like several iron-clad fists had taken firm hold of all the organs and tissues and nerves in his lower abdomen, and were ruthlessly twisting them, rupturing them, tearing them apart. And no matter how hard his hands tried to press down on his belly in a desperate attempt to stall the intense, blinding pain, the onslaught continued.

The poor, heavily pregnant prince whimpered piteously, tears now streaming down like rivulets from his eyes, and he knew he was biting down so hard on his lower lip that he was drawing blood. He couldn't call out for help ... he was afraid, and quite certain, that if he tried so much as moving a muscle to get off the bed, he would crumple to the floor. All he could do was writhe in unbearable agony, his back nearly arching off the bed and toes weakly pushing against the pillows Geralt had placed at his feet for extra comfort, and the sheets he lay on steadily became rumpled and drenched in sweat.

_Oh Melitele! Look after our baby! Please, preserve our child ..._

_Oh, how I wish Geralt were here ... Beloved, I need you ..._

_Help, please! Ma! Yen! Someone! Anyone! Please!_

As if on cue, he heard the door to his room burst open on its hinges, and someone hurtle inside. He really couldn't turn his head to take a look at who it was, because his mind simply refused to focus on anything but the pain that was wracking his entire body, sending electric surges of searing intensity through every single nerve in his system. He knew his mind was going haywire, and now, it seemed to be trying to drag down a smoky black curtain of blessed numbness as a last resort to obliterate the excruciating anguish ...

"Jaskier! Wake up! You have to stay awake! Jask, stay with me!", and someone none-too-gently thwacked his cheeks to bring him back to consciousness.

"Yennefer, give me some room. Let me check his cervix. If it's dilated, he might be going into preterm labour", someone urged, and Jaskier vaguely registered the owner of the voice to be Ira, the chief healer of the palace infirmary.

"I don't think he is bleeding, Ira."

"No, but there may be spotting, or very slight bloody discharges that may indicate that he is about to go into labour. In any case, I want to make sure both of them are completely fine."

Jaskier knew he was in the best possible hands - Ira with her unsurpassed skills as a most capable healer as well as midwife, and Yen with her tremendous magical potential in healing and saving lives - yet his heart twisted at the thought that his baby might be coming out this prematurely. He was not sure she would make it. 

_Melitele, please, let her stay inside me ... let her grow a bit more, a bit stronger ... don't bring her out into the world yet ... she needs more time ..._

Distantly, through the haze of mind-numbing pain, he felt someone's deft hands slightly elevate his hips and push a pillow underneath him, then pried his thighs apart. He immediately let out an agonized sob that had been building up inside him.

"Shhh", Yen's palm was upon his clammy forehead, and her voice was soothing (but he realized that it was shaking), "Everything's going to be okay. You're okay, and the little one is fine, Jask. I am sure of it."

Jaskier wasn't sure whom she was trying to convince - him or herself. And he knew very well how much this baby meant to her - she was going to make the best, most fiercely protective, most doting, most besotted aunt there ever had been in the entire Continent.

Jaskier whimpered helplessly as he felt Ira examining him, and he hoped she wouldn't spot any trace of blood. And he nearly collapsed in relief when he heard her say, "No, no blood. And his cervix is looking normal. This isn't preterm. Likely a spell of sporadic uterine contractions. Happens because of the uterus going through a few last growth spurts to fully accommodate the growing baby."

"Breathe, Jaskier, breathe", Ira murmured in a soothing voice, rubbing his sternum with her old, wrinkled hands, "You need to calm down. You need to draw deep, even, rhythmic breaths. Like so", and she demonstrated it, then asked him to focus on her rhythmic chant of "in and out, in and out, in and out".

Jaskier was trying ... he was trying so hard, but the sound of her voice seemed to slip in and out of his mind as his brain got smothered with the all-consuming anguish and his body convulsed violently. 

Swiftly and with a sure hand, the healer flipped him onto his left side, and rubbing her hands up and down his back and his chest in order to open up the airways, commanded, "Breathe, Jaskier! You need to breathe as I am asking you to. For the baby. You can do it. Breathe!"

And finally - _finally_ \- the traumatized prince forced himself, with gritted teeth and eyes still hazed in pain, to focus on Ira's words, and to inhale and exhale as she instructed. 

The cramps were receding. The pain eased a fraction.

Yen's delicate palms landed on top of his belly, smoothly prying off his own and pressing down all over the bulge, trying to ascertain that the fetus was indeed fine, "It seems the baby's alright. The pulse is strong. Jask, the baby's okay. Right, Ira?"

Ira's hands softly massaged Jaskier's belly as well, and she pressed her ear upon the taut skin, "Yes, I believe the baby is strong and healthy. But Jaskier is still suffering," she tilted the softly moaning prince's tear-streaked face and made him look into her eyes. "Jaskier, do you wish to relieve yourself? It will help with the cramps. Don't feel any shame. Just tell us."

Jaskier knew he was in an extremely vulnerable situation - one that could threaten not just his life but his baby's too - and of the handful of people in this world he could trust with every cell in his body, these two would definitely be two of the first names he could think of. Feebly, he nodded. And Ira and Yen wasted no time in helping him stand up, very slow and laborious though it was, and guided him to the chamber-pot.

Ira had been right. The cramps lessened and then disappeared altogether, and Jaskier's wrecked body nearly sagged in relief. The phantom claws that had, a moment earlier, seemed to be rending every nerve, every single blood vessel inside his lower abdomen into shreds, ceased to be.

Jaskier was still trembling. His hands still pressed down on his belly, and his breaths were rattled. His brain automatically braced itself for another avalanche of pain, and his jaws remained clenched. 

The two women helped him back onto the bed, but instead of having him lie down right away, Ira propped him up with some pillows around him. She then poured out cool water from the earthen pitcher into a chalice and handed it to him. "Bottoms up, lad!", and Jaskier obediently emptied the chalice.

The kindly old woman looked down at the still perspiring, still woefully shaken, still extremely distraught and tearful prince, and softly caressed his chestnut-brown hair, "These cramps are not abnormal, Jaskier, though I am a bit surprised that such an intense one happened only at seven and a half months. These extremely severe cramps are supposed to appear towards the very end of the pregnancy, eventually building up to labour."

"Do-does that mean ...", Jaskier's voice was hoarse, and he broke down in sobs, "Our ... our baby ..."

"No, child", Ira shushed him, cupping his cheeks and wiping away his tears, "The baby has some time yet to see the light of this world. So, enjoy the feeling of carrying her inside you a while longer, my darling. Now, you need to stay hydrated. Make sure to drink lots of water. Try and lie more on your side than on your back when you sleep or nap. It is quite alright to engage in physical activities, even sex", her eyes twinkled briefly and she wiggled her eyebrows, and Jaskier promptly blushed beetroot-red, "But those could trigger the contractions. And if that happens, don't become nervous. Just send for one of us. Your doting Witcher will be there to help anyway."

Jaskier was still blushing furiously, and Yen was indulgently threading her fingers through her exasperated brother's hair, when suddenly her frame went rigid.

Both Ira and the prince glanced up at the sorceress, their foreheads creased in worry.

"What's the matter, child?", Ira placed a hand on Yen's arm.

The sorceress looked like her face had suddenly turned to stone, and her eyes were about to pop out of their sockets, pupils dilated dangerously.

"Geralt ...", Yen breathed.

"What!", Jaskier nearly yelled, and tried to jump off the bed, but was instantly dissuaded by Ira's palms firmly pressing onto his shoulders and her disapproving expression, "What's going on, Yen? What's happening to Geralt? Why do you look like that? Yen!"

"Ira, make sure my brother stays in bed and is taken care of. Don't let him leave this room under any circumstance whatsoever, until I tell you to. And stay here with him", she ordered in her most imperious and brusque tone, yet Jaskier did not miss the undertone of panic that laced those words.

"But where are you going?", Ira inquired, even as Yen started casting some sort of spell all around the prince's room, her hands moving in intricate patterns and lips muttering inaudibly.

"I have renewed and reinforced the protective spells around Jaskier's chambers. I haven't a moment to lose. Look after him, Ira", and she dashed out of the room.

A frantic, sobbing, strangled wail of "YEN, PLEEEEASE!" followed her out.

**********************************************************************************************

When Geralt came to, he found himself lying on a soft, downy mattress, on his side, and something was tickling his nose.

His eyelids fluttered open, and he found himself face to face with a mop of soft, silken chestnut-brown hair, and the outline of a pale nose sticking out from underneath that, and the sound of soft snores being emitted from that nose.

And the familiar, beloved smell of chamomile and honey and dandelions and sweet peas filled his nostrils, enveloping his senses in a pleasant blanket of love and warmth and home and safety.

_He was home. He was with his Jaskier._

_His beloved, precious human was sleeping right next to him, sort of at right angles to his body, his head resting on the same pillow as Geralt._

And even as this realization made his lips automatically quirk up, the memories of that fateful night rushed back into his consciousness.

He bolted upright, and found himself being restrained by several hands on his shoulders and chest.

"Geralt, easy! Easy, brother! You are still recovering!"

"Geralt, no! You will tear the stitches! Your wounds are still not fully healed!"

"Brother, you're safe! Please, breathe!"

The chorus of the concerned voices of Lambert, Yennefer and Eskel assaulted him simultaneously, and at the same time, he heard Jaskier stir and slowly sit up.

"Beloved?", the voice that came from behind him was small, hesitant, and at the verge of breaking down.

_Oh gosh! How I missed that voice! How frightened my darling human sounds! Oh, how I wish I could lock him away inside my heart - my body - to keep him and our daughter safe from all the terrors of the world!_

Geralt was forced to lie back down by his Witcher brothers and his best friend, and he looked up at Jaskier, who sat as close to him as he possibly could without melding with him, and tightly held on to his left hand. And with a lurch of his heart, the White Wolf noted how his darling prince's lips wobbled, and how tears brimmed in those gorgeous cornflower-blue eyes.

"Baby, you're okay ... you're okay ...", he whispered, recalling the terrible premonition of that night.

"I almost lost you, Geralt ... I ... I ...", the prince could no longer hold back the sobs that were choking him. He broke down, and Eskel immediately started rubbing the distraught human's back, trying to shush him. "He's alright, Jaskier, he's safe now. He's with us, and he's never ever leaving you again. I promise."

Geralt reached out and softly caressed his pregnant human's huge belly. "Eskel's right, my love. I am in good hands now. I am back in your arms, safe and whole, dear heart."

As the weeping prince hiccuped himself into a semblance of calm, Yen, who had been pacing around the room, agitated, occasionally coming up to rub Jaskier's arm or fondle Geralt's hair, came back to the bedside and fixed her best friend with a determined stare.

"Tell us everything. Every single detail of what happened."

Geralt knew that if anyone was up to unraveling the tangle of that night's entirely-too-suspicious incidents, it was Yen. He nodded, then asked, "Sure, but first, how long have I been asleep?"

"Three full days", said Lambert, and brought him a chalice of water, "Drink up - you must be parched. And breakfast's coming up."

"Good. I'm famished", said Geralt, and slowly sat back up, leaning against the pillows piled up next to the headboard and accepting the water from Lambert. 

"Your human refused to leave your bedside this entire time, Geralt. No matter how hard we tried to convince him to take care of his health first, he didn't listen", Eskel complained, throwing a soft glare at Jaskier, who wilted a bit. 

"Jasky ..."

"I couldn't! I'm sorry, okay? I was terrified! You came back drenched in blood, Geralt! You had such deep lacerations all over your chest ... and back ... and", the prince's voice was threatening to drown in sobs again, and Geralt quickly extended his arms. Jaskier snuggled into his chest, burrowing into the folds of his shirt, arms encircling him and clinging to him for dear life.

And sitting there completely wrapped up in his Beloved's arms, Geralt slowly started to speak.

Silence stretched on for a while after he was done recounting the events that had transpired up until the moment he had been attacked by the swarm of fleders.

"If I reckon right, then the time when you felt the most pressing urge to come back to Jaskier - the time when the premonition pulled you backwards strongest - was exactly when Jaskier was having his awful cramps", mused Yen, a frown on her face.

"That's probably precisely why I felt such an intense foreboding grip my heart", Geralt confirmed, not understanding why his best friend looked so perplexed, as if she was trying to solve some rather complex puzzle.

"And right after you got assaulted - right about that time, Jask's cramps subsided."

"What are you implying, Yen?", asked Eskel. All eyes were now turned to Yen's face, including Jaskier's, who sniffled surreptitiously while peeking out of the folds of Geralt's shirt.

"I have only a hunch, Eskel. There's no evidence yet ..."

"Just spit it out, Yen. This is something that could potentially mean the difference between life and death for Geralt and Jask and their baby", said Lambert briskly, in his usual blunt manner.

"I think, Lambert, that Jask, or his baby, or both of them - they were trying to call out to Geralt. To give him some manner of warning. To pull him away from the perimeter, to shield him from the impending attack."

"What?!", Geralt and Jaskier blurted in unison.

"Think about it, Geralt! You yourself felt rather reluctant that day to leave Jask's side. That's why you came to me before you left, to keep an eye on him. Of course, back then, it was natural for both of us to chalk it up to something to do with Jaskier's health. But turns out Jask was fine - is fine - and the cramps, though unusually severe at this stage of the pregnancy, didn't indicate anything serious. They began suddenly, without warning, and with a little help from Ira, disappeared shortly afterwards. And even his backache hss vanished. He has been totally fine these last three days, except for a bit of fatigue. "

"But Jask is human! How can his system sense such imminent peril?", asked Eskel, and Geralt nodded in agreement.

"Why do you underestimate the human body and mind, Eskel?", Yen countered, "Sometimes, such a deep emotional bond may get forged between a human and his mate - his partner for life - that the human's subconscious might be innately able to gauge some potentially life-threatening danger looming ahead of his mate, and his body might react accordingly."

She walked over to the bedside and sat down, softly rubbing Jaskier's back, then looking into Geralt's amber-gold eyes.

"And don't forget, Geralt, that in this case, this bond is not just between you and Jaskier, but between you and _two_ humans. Your Beloved, and your unborn daughter", she gently massaged Jaskier's belly, and the human automatically pressed her palm against his midsection with his own hand.

Geralt pressed a soft kiss on top of his Beloved's head, then frowned again as he recalled something else.

"Did you three kill the nekurat?"

"The what?", Yen inquired, eyes going impossibly wide.

"What are you talking about, Geralt? There were only fleders. About twenty of them, probably a few more", said Eskel quizzically, and Lambert grunted in affirmation.

"What! The nekurat ... she bit into my arm! Right here ...", his right hand flew to his left arm, to the spot where he knew she had sunk her fangs ...

... and came up with nothing!

The skin there was flawless, unmarred by any scar! There was no break in the tissue there, and no hint of anything ever penetrating that area.

Geralt's jaws hardened.

_Something about this felt very, very wrong._

_Something was going on. Something significantly more evil, more cunning, more devious and convoluted than their minds could catch up with. Yet._

"This nekurat ... she ... she seemed different ... felt different ... like she was being driven not just by her own malice but some other, deeper, darker power as well ... could it be that she possessed the power to sew back the wound ..."

"Geralt, are you even certain it was not your pain-numbed mind playing tricks? I mean, you sustained extremely grievous injuries, even for a mutant ..."

"No Yen", he cut her short, his expression stormy, "I am positive. She bit me. And when she did, something else entered my bloodstream. I felt it. It was what sent me to my knees, and eventually caused me to black out from acute pain. Lambert, can you bring my armour?"

Lambert walked over to a table on the far side of the room, and brought back the upper half of the armour.

And sure enough - the left vambrace bore two sharp-edged, tiny holes - two pinpricks where the fangs had pierced the metal.

"What was a nekurat doing with a gang of fleders?", Eskel asked the room at large.

"Whatever it is, Eskel, I don't like it. I don't like it one bit", said Geralt, and instinctively pulled Jaskier closer to himself, one hand protectively shielding the back of his humans' head, the other protectively cradling the prince's bulging belly.

_Whatever it was - whatever peril loomed ahead - he would be damned if he let a hair on his Beloved or his unborn daughter be touched by it._

_By life or by death if he could save them, he would!_


	13. Our first ever lovemaking, at the eve of the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, the first part is important because it holds clues to the suspense that is building up and is going to unfold from the next chapter onward. And second -- this chapter is STEAMY AS HELL :-D I wanted to be very explicit not because I want to describe in detail the sex scene, but to illustrate HOW CARING GERALT CAN BE WHILE MAKING LOVE TO HIS PREGNANT PARTNER. This is important to me from a personal viewpoint, because I have always - always - imagined Geralt to be soft. My Geralt is always soft and loving and caring on the inside and is not very emotionally constipated - he is able to show it, even though he has a generally tough exterior.
> 
> The amount of study I had to do to write this chapter about safe sex during pregnancy is ridiculous LOL :-D And I would know it has all been worth it if you all leave some reviews :-D PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW :-D
> 
> Also, just to recall, in the prologue of this fic, I mention how an expectant man's anatomy changes to mimic a woman's - temporarily - to make a viable environment for the baby. Jaskier would change back to his original anatomy about six months to a year after he gives birth. Oh and also, I assume that Witchers are not sterile (see summary).

The king and the queen themselves came up with tray-fulls of breakfast for their recuperating Sentinel and his companions, and they all ate together (Jaskier, as usual, leaning against his lover and throwing him concerned glances from time to time).

"I am worried for you, son", said the queen, "This assault on you ... it's as if the intruders specifically targeted you, created an ambush ..."

"Ma, don't worry", the White Wolf tried to reassure the anxious queen, but Yennefer's words from earlier kept sending tendrils of unease through his mind, "Did you three manage to vanquish the monsters and seal the walls again, magically and otherwise?"

It was Eskel who answered, and Geralt realized, with sudden fear clutching his heart, that his brother's voice wavered with doubt and concern, "We did, Geralt. But there was something very odd we found."

"How so?", asked Jaskier, who had had no chance in the past three days to glean the details of the assault (nor had he been particularly interested back then) from Yen and the Witchers, busy as he was taking care of his comatose, feverish, grimly wounded White Wolf.

"When we examined the frayed edges of our protective wards, we found them corroded away - almost charred, you could say - by dark magic. But our spells had not weakened prior to the invasion, mind you - which means the dark magic that was employed is tremendously powerful. It's able to saw through a pretty stout layer of magical fortification. I have never seen anything of its kind before. It's ... it's like some sort of incredibly potent acid that leached away at our wards", explained Yen, and Geralt felt he had never seen his friend so unsettled and nervous.

"You mean you just couldn't recognize the spells that were used to summon this dark magic?", Geralt asked, praying that that was all it was.

"No, Geralt. This magic - it felt completely foreign to me, and you know how deeply I have delved into the study of magic. It felt as if ... as if this magic hails from a different universe altogether. And something tells me that it is far darker and more inimical than anything we have encountered so far. And ... it's considerably more treacherous too, Geralt. It can hide in plain sight."

"What do you mean?", all three Witchers looked at her sharply.

"I mean that, had there not been an attack on you, and had we not guessed that the breach must have happened in the ramparts closest to where you fell - if we had not specifically sought it - we would really not have noticed anything amiss with the magical fortifications in that area. The dark magic that was able to violate our wards also cunningly concealed the fissure its penetration created in the mesh of our protective spells. If we didn't know to look for it, our eyes and senses would have glossed over the rift without suspecting its presence."

Jaskier instinctively drew even closer to Geralt, his hand tightly clasping the Witcher's, as he asked, "You all are going to be safe, right?"

Geralt couldn't help a fond chuckle. Here was his darling human - heavy with child and the most vulnerable among them all - and yet all he could think of was the safety of his lover, of his adopted sister and of his Witcher brothers. 

The king and the queen, too, looked rather unnerved at this new revelation, but Yen tried to sound reassuring. "We'll be fine, Jask. But at this stage, we cannot really fight this alien magic effectively without performing an in-depth analysis, which will prove nigh impossible since I have repaired the breach and in the process, destroyed the last remnants of the invasive spells. What I suggest, as an additional measure of defense, is to summon my friend Ermion, and his apprentices."

"Mousesack?", Geralt asked, sounding eager as he had not seen his old friend for a long time. But the king, the queen and the prince looked at Yennefer with quietly questioning eyes.

"Ermion, who usually goes by the nickname 'Mousesack' among us - his friends - is an exceptionally powerful druid. He is a childhood friend of Geralt's. He might be able to see through the dark sorcery at work here. I have already sent him word, and he will bring along some rather promising apprentices of his. At least as long as Geralt isn't fully recovered - in fact, even after that, the druids can continue to be a part of Vengerberg's line of defense."

"This sounds good", agreed the queen, with a look of admiration towards her adopted daughter, "I think Geralt should stay away from the perimeter, and as close to Jask as possible, at least until the baby arrives." 

************************************************************************************

Geralt wrinkled his nose as he attempted to tug off the shirt he had been wearing for the last four days or so, trying not to aggravate his still-healing injuries. "I need a bath, Jasky. There's no way I am coming close to you in this state", he looked down at himself, with blood, sweat and grime still obstinately clinging to his torso, although Jaskier had, while taking care of him, wiped some of it away with a wet cloth.

The prince rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like I care", he scoffed, "When they brought you back, unconscious and bleeding profusely, who do you think cleaned up your wounds, Geralt? At that point of time, all I knew was that you were alive, and that somehow the four of us had to make sure you stayed alive. And I fell asleep every single night cuddling you, you dolt", he finished, his eyes instantly tearing up at the memory of his Beloved lying helpless and prone on the bed, fever burning his skin, his mind lost in delirious dreams. 

Geralt immediately stepped forward and pulled Jaskier into a hug. "I know, baby, I know", he murmured, trying to soothe the prince.

"I would make love to a mud-splattered, monsters'-blood-soaked, filthy you every single day of my existence if it meant that you would come home safe and sound and unhurt, Geralt", Jaskier choked out through his tears, pushing past the lump in his throat.

And Geralt knew that his human meant every single one of those words he had just uttered.

"Now", the prince hiccuped, then wiped away his tears furiously, his tone suddenly brusque and a tad imperious, "If you must bathe, I insist that I scrub off the smudges from your skin, and wash your hair." He looked at Geralt with a teary-eyed yet defiant glare, as if daring him to refuse. And Geralt felt like his mutant heart began racing.

_Soaking in a hot tub, completely naked in front of Jaskier._

_Jaskier's hands upon his bare skin, scrubbing him, bathing him._

_Jaskier's hands on his hair, washing it, rinsing it._

He gulped, and his eyes automatically dipped down, a shy smile playing on his lips. 

And his Beloved wasted no time in taking advantage of this moment and pulling his face down for a deep kiss.

_Oh, how he had missed this taste!_

_How his heart had constricted in fear of never being able to taste Jaskier's sweet, sweet lips the moment he had been faced with over a score of lethal fleders!_

Within the next hour, all preparations were done - the servants brought up several buckets of steaming hot water and filled up the capacious stone tub that was set upon a slightly raised platform in the middle of the bathing area in the prince's suite. They brought out the fragrant soaps and shampoos and bathing lotions from the cabinets lining the stone wall of the room, and arranged them neatly on low stools right next to the tub. Several freshly laundered, very thick and downy towels were placed on a low footstool beside the tub.

Jaskier himself changed into his most comfortable nightshirt and trousers, worn and threadbare from overuse, while Geralt, still shy and hesitant, took his time stripping down to his smallclothes. His soiled shirt and breeches were immediately carried away by the servants for cleaning.

"Ahem", the Wolf turned at the sound of Jaskier clearing his throat.

"Do you plan on keeping that on while you bathe, Geralt?", the prince asked testily, tilting his head, a sly smile on his lips as his eyes roamed all over his Beloved's frame until they landed upon the loincloth he was still wearing. 

Geralt blushed the deepest shade of magenta Jaskier had ever seen.

_How could his human be this cheeky?_

_Bastard knew exactly how he was making Geralt go weak in the knees ..._

_The Witcher's stomach did weird back-flips as he felt his Beloved's eyes devour him voraciously ..._

_How was his deliciously round, pregnant human managing to be this bold and unabashed while he, the White Wolf, was standing there feeling the air around him grow unbearably hot?_

Before he could do anything else, Jaskier's hands were cupping his cheeks, making him look into those vivid cornflower-blue orbs.

"I like it", said the prince in a whisper that made Geralt shiver, "This blush ... it becomes you, my heart. I like you blushing for me ... I like it very much." 

The prince let his hands trail down from the Wolf's stubbly cheeks, palms caressing his heated skin tantalizingly on both sides of his neck, on his shoulders, down his chest, tracing the scars, over his abdomen (and Geralt hissed and shivered some more), raising goosebumps, until they came to rest very lightly on his waist, just barely touching the rim of his loincloth.

"But unfortunately, dear heart, this has to go", and with one swift, sure motion, the prince unfastened the cords of the loincloth and let it fall, pooling around the Witcher's feet.

Geralt gasped.

He knew he was at least a little hard, and he had anticipated (hoped fervently, too, if he was being honest) that perhaps tonight, they wouldn't just be sleeping next to each other. He had felt, right from the time Geralt had left his own chambers, that both of them were desperate to hold each other. To truly make sure the other was okay, given how stricken each of them had been with the fear of losing the other these past few days. To be as close to each other as was physically possible while their souls still remained housed in two separate bodies.

_But what he had not expected was how his heart would lurch and stutter at the sensation of his human's soft, delicate fingers lovingly, almost gingerly, stroking him._

"Jasky", he moaned helplessly, his hands clutching his human's shoulders for support as Jaskier softly palmed his balls, and then gently stroked the entire length of his now-quite-erect cock.

"Geralt", the prince began, his voice small, his tone hesitant, and his eyes lowered, "I don't know if ... um ... you know ... you're ready ... but I ... I really ..."

"I need you", Geralt blurted out, "I need you tonight, Jasky."

Jaskier nearly sagged in relief. His face instantly split into the sunniest smile the Wolf had ever seen on his human's face, and Geralt couldn't help how his heart soared at the sight, "Me too. I need you too. Oh Geralt, I need you."

"But wait", Geralt put both his palms underneath the beautiful, round belly of his heavily pregnant Beloved, "Will she be...?"

"Yes", said Jaskier, his tone confident as his hands came to rest on top of Geralt's, "Both Yen and Ira, the chief healer, believe she will be just fine."

*********************************************************************************

"You're going to take your sweet time, aren't you?", Geralt huffed impatiently, as Jaskier continued to fill up the metal cup in his hand with water from the tub and kept pouring it gently down Geralt's head, shielding the Witcher's eyes. 

"Well, it takes time to rinse this much of hair, Geralt", retorted the prince in mock indignation, as his hands started parting the silver-white tresses so as to let the water trickle down to every nook and cranny, "And since I have entrusted myself with your hair-care routine tonight, I have to make sure I do a thorough job of it."

Jaskier was sitting on a comfortable, cushioned, wooden chair right behind the tub in which the White Wolf was currently seated submerged up to his chest in piping hot water filled with soap suds and aromatic bath oils. The height of the tub's rim was just perfect for the prince's dexterous hands to have full access to his Witcher's wealth of gossamer hair, and for Geralt to luxuriate in his human's warm presence behind him. Picking up a cut-glass jar full of his favourite citrus-smelling shampoo, Jaskier poured out copious amounts of the viscous liquid onto his palm, and rubbed his palms together to make a thick lather.

"Lean back", he instructed Geralt.

Geralt obliged, but immediately straightened back up.

_His head had rested against Jaskier's protruding belly!_

"Oh shit, did I hurt you?", the Witcher immediately turned to look at Jaskier with eyes widened in concern.

Jaskier barked a laugh. "Geralt, your human is very, very pregnant, yes, but not a fragile glass doll. You won't hurt me or your daughter by lightly resting your head on my tummy."

Geralt didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue. Slowly he turned, and leaning back, very gently rested his head on his lover's belly.

Jaskier started meticulously smearing and rubbing the shampoo onto Geralt's tresses, his short digits scrubbing at the roots, massaging the scalp and invigorating each follicle, threading through the long strands and making sure every last one of them was covered in lather from root to tip.

"Mmmm", Geralt hummed, a smile of utter peace and contentment gracing his lips, his eyes closed as the rejuvenation of his hair follicles under his Beloved's ministrations sent pleasant tingling sensations down his spine, "So attentive towards your Wolf, human!"

He was rewarded with a playful smack that left a dollop of soapy froth on the tip of his nose.

"I can hear her heartbeats", Geralt said suddenly, his gold eyes coming open. And Jaskier's hands froze.

"You can?", the prince asked in an awed whisper, and his Wolf nodded, turning his head to the side to press an ear to his lover's belly. "She is strong and full of energy - our baby!", he said, then pressed a soft kiss to the taut skin there.

"How did you know it's a girl, Geralt? That early on?"

"I suppose I have my mutant senses to thank for that, Beloved."

Jaskier began rinsing Geralt's hair, making sure to wash away every last bit of shampoo and carefully shielding his eyes, while Geralt stayed with his cheek and ear pressed to the prince's belly, occasionally murmuring something inaudible into the skin followed by gentle pecks. "What are you saying to her?", asked Jaskier curiously, and Geralt chuckled.

"That's between my daughter and me. Keep your nose out of this father-daughter bonding, eavesdropping human!", teased the Witcher, and immediately regretted it as he was doused with a mugful of bitter soapy water, making him splutter and cough like a baby seal forced underwater for the first time by its parents. 

**************************************************************************************

Once the water in the tub had turned tepid, and Jaskier was done massaging Geralt's back, knuckling his spine and kneading the muscles stiff from exhaustion, the Witcher stood up, picking up a towel from the footstool and draping it around himself. Before Jaskier could try to hoist himself from his chair, Geralt turned around and caught his hands.

"Wait, Jasky, you've been sitting for a long time. If you try to stand up too quickly, you might feel dizzy from all the blood rushing to your legs and feet", he explained as he supported the prince, helping him stand up. Jaskier put his arms around Geralt, angling himself so he could shuffle as close to the Wolf's chest as possible, "You are my haven, Geralt. Mine and our daughter's." The lovers slowly padded back to the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed, Jaskier wrapping another downy towel around his Wolf's head, massaging the dripping-wet tresses to help dry them.

But they both knew their patience had worn thin. And Jaskier was totally looking forward to tousling and ruffling Geralt's beautifully wet hair in his fingers.

And so, just a few minutes later, Geralt gently pried the towel from his hair and turned around partially, pulling Jaskier as close to him as possible and catching his lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

"Geralt ...", Jaskier moaned, eyes slipping closed as he nearly melted into the kiss. 

"Wait", commanded the Witcher, then turned around fully to face the prince. With deft, eager hands, he started undoing the buttons on Jaskier's shirt, then tugged the garment off his shoulder and put it aside. "Let me help", he urged, as Jaskier made to stand up, "Lie back, slowly." With that, he supported the prince's back and helped him lie down comfortably, then hoisting his legs on the bed and straightening them, the Wolf unfastened the loose trousers around Jaskier's waist and pulled them down. The human lay there, pliant and blushing, his breathing heavy and rapid as he watched his White Wolf in rapt wonder.

Hesitantly, Geralt brought his hands back up to Jaskier's waist, but let them hover over the cords fastening the smallclothes. He looked up silently at his lover for permission, and Jaskier smiled, nodding eagerly. And Geralt needed no further insistence. 

Jaskier now lay completely naked on the bed - laid fully bare to his Beloved. And Geralt just couldn't help the hungry gaze he directed upon his lover's recumbent form.

_Oh! His human was beautiful! Gorgeous! Ravishing! Utterly delectable!_

Jaskier's anatomy had morphed quite a bit over the last ten months or so. His reproductive organs had changed under the spells cast and potions brewed by Yennefer, giving him not only a womb to carry his child but also altering his genitals. His breasts had swelled beautifully too - Geralt felt his stomach tingle pleasantly at the sight. And above all, the Wolf's eyes ravenously drank in the sight of the flawlessly round, huge belly that rose and fell with every breath the prince took.

"Jasky ...", Geralt breathed, as if in prayer, feeling weak in the knees.

"I need you", Jaskier said faintly, his eyes beseeching as his body ached for his Beloved's touch, "Baby, please ..."

_Oh Jasky! You'll be the death of me ..._

_You are blooming, Jasky! Blooming like the most beautiful flower I have ever seen! Blooming with the life growing inside you, my Beloved! Blooming with the little girl I have come to love as my own ..._

_And some day, after Da and Baba and Ma marry us, you will bloom with my seed inside you! You will grow to carry and nurture and bring to this world my very own child!_

_You are my home, Jasky! And with you, I shall have a family! After all these decades drifting alone and unloved across the Continent, with nothing but Roach and prowling monsters to keep me company, I'll have a family - all because of you, my heart!_

The thoughts alone were enough to make him go fully hard.

Letting the towel covering his still-wet torso drop in a heap onto the floor, the Witcher lowered himself to the bed, even as Jaskier ponderously scooted away to make room for his lover. 

Leaning forward while balancing himself on an elbow, Geralt cupped Jaskier's face with the other hand and brought their foreheads together.

"Baby, you will tell me if you are in the slightest bit of discomfort or pain, yes?", the Wolf asked, and the prince nodded, "And do you know of a position that will be most suitable for you? Do you wish to ride me?"

Jaskier blushed, but Geralt didn't let him break eye-contact, keeping a finger underneath his chin. At last, the prince mumbled shyly, "I ... um ... kind of want you to take control. To ... uh ... dominate me, if you ... uh ... lie on top of ..."

"May I spoon you, then?"

"Ye-yes, I would like that", the prince said, smiling shyly.

"Alright", and without further ado, the Witcher claimed his human's lips in his own, kissing ardently, drawing out a soft, long moan from Jaskier's mouth.

Geralt started splitting Jaskier's lips with his skilled tongue, and of course, the prince yielded. The Wolf inserted his tongue in there even as Jaskier's tongue tasted his own mouth, and the two of them moaned helplessly as their tongues tussled with each other.

They were breathless as they parted, Geralt's tresses now cascading loose all around them like a curtain hiding the two lovers from the rest of the world.

Without pausing for long, the Witcher tilted up his partner's chin and started pressing hot open-mouthed kisses upon his exposed throat. Jaskier's hands ran up and down Geralt's sides and back as he arched up his neck, allowing his Wolf even more skin to direct his attention on. 

Geralt took his time trailing kisses upon the bobbing Adam's apple, the smooth skin of the shoulders, the upper part of the sternum, before finally - _finally_ \- bringing his attention down to the breasts.

He glanced up at Jaskier. The prince was panting, completely flushed, looking down at his Wolf with eyes wide and swimming with desire. And relishing the disheveled look of his human, Geralt chuckled adoringly and lowered his mouth to the chocolate-brown nipple.

Cupping the swell of the breast with one hand, the Wolf started pressing soft, sensuous, loving kisses on the flesh all around the nipple, but resolutely stayed away from the nipple itself, making Jaskier squirm impatiently.

"Geralt, baby, please ...", the poor prince begged.

The Wolf didn't want to torment his pregnant Beloved too much - there would be time enough to draw out the pleasure as much as he wanted for many, many, many nights to come, after Jaskier delivered their little girl.

He wrapped his wet lips around the nipple.

Jaskier whimpered.

Adroitly, the Witcher started sucking, not too hard as he knew Jaskier's nipples would likely be susceptible to irritation and pain on account of his advanced pregnancy. Occasionally, his tongue rasped over the poor nipple, making it even more stiff and Jaskier arched up as much as the weight in his abdomen would allow, emitting helpless moans that made Geralt go even harder.

And with a jolt in his stomach, the Wolf realized that what his tongue was tasting was his Beloved's sweet colostrum.

Geralt started massaging the prince's belly with his other hand, savouring the feeling of the smooth bulge underneath his palm, as his lips relinquished their hold on the now over-sensitized left nipple with a soft plop and turned their ministrations on to the right one. He suckled to his heart's content, ravaging the nipple and kissing all around its puckered skin, until Jaskier, with his hands tangled in Geralt's hair and tugging slightly, was begging so desperately that the Wolf relented.

"Your pre-milk tastes sweet", he breathed, his eyes shining with lust and longing as he looked down at his pliant human, with nipples erect from all the attention and leaking the rich, yellowish colostrum.

"Geralt", the prince was close to tears from the way his body ached and thrummed from need, "Please, Beloved ... I can only take so much ... I need you, please ..."

Geralt knew that at such an advanced stage of pregnancy, the prince would essentially be sopping wet down there simply from all the stimulation his nipples and breasts had received, but he was not about to take any chance. He wanted to make sure his Beloved was absolutely ready when he entered him, and that he didn't feel the slightest trace of pain.

He started trailing hot, wet kisses down the pregnancy line that ran down the delectably round belly, pausing a little to suck with his tongue on Jaskier's navel, making the prince squirm in need. He pried the prince's thighs apart, and gently lowered himself between them.

He could smell the wetness of his human's arousal - the smell that was all Jaskier, and it drove him crazy. Softly, as unhurriedly as he possibly could in his own state of hardness, he started planting kisses onto the delicate skin of the inner sides of the thighs, gradually closing in on the clitoris. Placing a swift kiss onto the clitoris, just to send out a warning to his now-utterly-agitated partner, he dove in with his tongue. He kept swirling his skilled tongue in a circular motion, stimulating the clitoris, leaving Jaskier a shuddering, moaning, writhing mess. His hands reached up, first massaging the deliciously huge belly in a possessive manner, then softly palming the nipples again. Jaskier let out a loud, unhesitating whimper, his body now coming dangerously close to the edge.

"GERALT!", the prince all but wailed, nearly sobbing, as the White Wolf's lips closed abruptly over the already swollen clitoris, sucking mercilessly, "Baby please! I can't ... baby ... oh!"

Geralt knew Jaskier would come any moment now if he did not stop. And he did not want that to happen quite this fast.

Raising himself back up, he swiftly but still with extraordinary gentleness flipped his writhing, moaning, quivering human onto his right side, and spooned him - the White Wolf's chest pressed flush against the prince's back and left shoulder. Geralt draped his left arm over Jaskier's waist and his hand came to cradle the pregnant human's belly.

Jaskier whimpered as he felt Geralt's hardened cock dig into his lower back, and he reached back with his left hand to stroke it lovingly, making his Wolf's breath hitch.

But both of them were too far gone now, and Geralt was _dying_ to enter Jaskier.

After letting Jaskier give him only a few strokes, the Witcher loosened his grip and moved his hand back onto the bed, where it now rested with the palm splayed on the mattress for support. 

"Jasky, baby, are you ready?"

"I need you ... I need you inside me right now", came the frantic begging.

_And finally, Geralt pushed into Jaskier - very slowly, very carefully._

Both of them whimpered helplessly. 

Jaskier wasn't sure how he could accommodate all of Geralt. The Witcher was almost impossibly large, and Jaskier felt like he would be split in half.

_And he would happily take it all!_

"Jasky ... oh gosh ... baby you are so tight ... oh baby ... so good ... such a dear human ... so tight ... so good for me", Geralt groaned in heady pleasure as he entered all the way and Jaskier tightened around him instinctively. He lowered his mouth to kiss and nuzzle the sensitive spot right beneath Jaskier's left ear, while his left hand caressed all over Jaskier's belly possessively and occasionally made its way up to the swollen nipples to keep them stimulated with very gentle pinches.

"Geralt, Beloved, I beg you ... please move ... please ..."

But no matter how fervently, how earnestly the prince begged, his Wolf would not plunge himself roughly into him, nor pound into him in a manner that could be considered even remotely harsh.

_Of course Geralt would do that - thought Jaskier with unprecedented warmth blossoming in his heart ..._

_The Wolf was going to protect Jaskier and their baby at all costs ..._

_And for that, he would be as tender and gentle as anyone possibly could be, and he would care little for his own pleasure - always putting Jaskier's needs before his own._

And so it was that Geralt set a very comfortable, very gentle rhythm for the both of them, rocking into his pregnant human while whispering sweet nothings into his ear, kissing his neck and back and shoulder, rubbing his nipples and his clitoris, and always taking care to shower love upon the unborn child inside Jaskier's belly.

They rocked together for what felt like hours, their bodies melding together and slick with sweat, their soft moans and whimpers and their adoring words for each other filling the air, their eyes closed and their ragged breaths mingling together.

"Look at you ... look how flushed you are ... mmm, Jasky ... my beautiful Jasky ... all mine ... filled with my cock ... oh how good you feel around me ... oh ..."

"I'm yours ... yours forevermore ... never to belong to anyone else ever again ... oh Geralt ... baby ... I can't have enough of you ... baby please, go harder ..."

And as the breathless pleas and the possessive, impassioned declarations of love became more and more incoherent in the throes of their intense lovemaking, Jaskier's body reached its crescendo underneath his dominating, loving, masterful White Wolf, and he came undone.

With a cry the prince came, like a floodgate that had been raised, his whole frame shuddering like a beautiful, pliant leaf in the wind.

And with that sound, Geralt increased his rhythm marginally and began thrusting a little bit more earnestly into his human.

"Yes, yes! Geralt, oh, please, yes! Please take your pleasure from me ... I'm yours ... I'm yours ... have me, please ..."

And it was those words that pushed the Wolf over the edge, and he came undone as well, filling Jaskier with his seed.

They lay like that, panting like they each had run a mile, Geralt's frame now completely curled around Jaskier's, and his left hand now splayed over the prince's belly, patting the bulge, occasionally caressing the navel. His nose was buried in Jaskier's neck, breathing deeply in the chamomile scent that was now mixed in with the musky, spicy scent of Jaskier's orgasm and sweat. 

_As he lay there wrapped around his sweet, beautiful, pregnant Beloved, Geralt wondered why Destiny had been cruel enough to keep him waiting this long before he met Jaskier._

_And as he lay there in his Beloved's embrace, Jaskier wondered how someone as strong and powerful and lithe and almost predatory as the White Wolf could be this tender, this soft, this caring and loving during lovemaking._

"Would you ... would you please stay? Inside me? Just for a little while longer?", asked Jaskier timidly as Geralt made to pull out, and with an indulgent smile the Wolf slid back in place, though his cock was now soft inside his prince.

And it was then that he felt it.

"Jasky!", the Wolf exclaimed in a mixture of disbelief and joy, as his palm automatically pressed down more assertively onto his human's round belly, his eyes widening.

"I know!", intoned the prince, and turned to lock his eyes with his lover's even as his own palm pressed down atop Geralt's.

And both of them let out quiet giggles, their eyes tearing up as they savoured the sensation together.

_Their baby was kicking! Their beloved daughter! She was awake and well and softly kicking inside Jaskier's tummy!_

"I think she is happy", said Jaskier, collecting himself from the sudden onslaught of emotions after a few moments and placing a soft, passionate kiss on his partner's lips, "She is happy that her fathers made love, finally."

And Geralt, tears still trickling down his eyes, could only gulp and agree.

_Oh Melitele! Let this last forever!_

_My home! My family! My darlings ..._

Of all people, Geralt of Rivia ought to have known that nothing lasts forever. And no true love could evade the cruelest of tests that fate made sure to throw in its path.


	14. The noose of conspiracy tightens around an innocent's neck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, if this chapter is a boatload of suspense and dark magic and evil at least momentarily triumphing over good and hope and love, then the next chapter will be a ship-load of angst. But I won't leave a summary for this chapter and spoil your reading, except for 3 phrases: dark sorcery, conspiracy and fear of losing one's most beloved individual. Go on, read it :-D AND PLEASE REVIEW TO LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF IT :-D

"I can't tell you how happy I am, Geralt. I am the happiest I have been in a very, very long time."

Geralt raised his head from where it had been resting on Yennefer's shoulder, to look at his best friend. Yen was staring into the distance, but a smile adorned her rosy lips and her delicate hand caressed Geralt's own calloused one.

"Two of my most favourite people, about to be handfasted", she finished, turning to look at Geralt, who promptly blushed and his eyes dipped down, a shy smile on his lips.

"Oh look at you, my White Wolf - all shy and sweet and soft", she teased, placing her knuckles underneath his chin and making him look up into her violet orbs, "What would Vesemir say?"

"Do you know when Da arrives?", Geralt couldn't keep out the slight tremor of excitement and awe and giddy anticipation from his voice - Vesemir had long dreamed of his wolf pups settling down and basking in their happily-ever-afters, and the White Wolf couldn't help but wonder how happy his Da would be at the prospect of his marriage to Jaskier. Vesemir had always nursed a particularly soft spot in his heart for Geralt, and he worried for Geralt the most - his precious white pup who had unfortunately spent many long decades on the brink of believing that he was a monster undeserving of friendship and love and compassion. 

"Goodness, so eager!", Yen said as if in shock, then laughed, "Have some patience, sweetheart. Baba is preparing the letter of invitation to Da, and I have sent him word magically. After all, this is no ordinary affair - this will be your grand engagement ceremony, followed closely by your wedding. Wow! You're finally getting married! _Finally!_ ", and her eyes went comically wide.

"You're next. So find whichever poor man whose life you wish to utterly destroy, and find him fast", he grinned mischievously, "Or we'll find one _for_ you."

The two bantered back and forth like bickering siblings, until Yen jumped up and let out a most undignified squeak, "Shit! I forgot! Ma wants me to go through a list of possible wedding attires for you two that she has in mind", and Geralt sighed. He knew there would be pomp involved - to a small extent at the very least - this was a prince getting married to one of the most renowned Witchers, after all.

Jaskier was now nearly eight and a half months pregnant, and the king and the queen were eager to have the lovers engaged to each other before the baby came. The wedding would be an affair of far greater grandeur and splendour and celebrations, and that would have to wait until well after the birth, when Jaskier would be fully recovered from the delivery.

Even as Yen and Geralt made to go back inside the palace from where they had been perched together on a stone bench in the palace-gardens, their eyes were drawn to a black speck hurtling towards the western tower of the palace, the top floor of which housed the mews for the message-hawks.

"That looks official. May be I should drop by the mews before heading to Ma's chambers", mused Yen, "Coming with me?"

A few minutes later, Yen was extricating, with some difficulty, the tightly rolled scroll of paper that had been lodged in the clutches of the message-hawk. Unwinding the scroll and laying it flat on the wooden table, she quickly read the message written in an elegant scrawl.

_And nearly collapsed upon the chair she was standing in front of._

"What is it? What is it, Yen?", the Witcher rushed to his friend's side, shaking her shoulders. But Yen's eyes had almost glazed over. Wordlessly, she held out the scroll to him. 

It was a letter from Prince Alvin of Lyria.

*****************************************************************************************

King Stephen was literally grinding his teeth in anger. Yen thought she had never seen the old, genial, unfailingly kind and benevolent king this livid with fury. But she couldn't blame him. She was sure her own expression mirrored his, while Geralt stood leaning against a pillar, his back ramrod-straight, his eyes smouldering like pools of molten lava.

The queen sat with her arms around Jaskier. The prince looked almost shrunken, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed, his arms cradling his belly.

_Oh, how tired and defeated the poor thing looks!_

_My brother ... my dearest, most darling human ... looking so forlorn and afraid!_

_I'll be damned if I don't make sure he stays safe from the clutches of that slimy bastard ..._

"Can't we just send back a reply asking him to stay away?", the king all but roared, and Jaskier flinched.

"Not without provoking a war", said Yen, "He has nowhere stated the true purpose of his visit, and his letter makes it sound like he simply wishes to come for a leisurely trip."

"And he will have a retinue accompanying him, and he has conveniently failed to mention which members of his court will be part of that retinue", Geralt reminded her through gritted teeth.

"Lyria is far more powerful than Vengerberg, and we have maintained strong diplomatic ties with them for a long time. Denying the prince this visit will only attract the wrath of Lyria's sovereign, I'm afraid, Geralt", Yen sighed.

"I don't want a war, please!", Jaskier pleaded, his eyes tearing up, "I don't want any bloodshed on my account, please!"

"Jaskier, we can and will fight for you!", Geralt strode forward, his eyes still blazing in rage, "Me, Yen, Eskel, Lambert, even Mousesack - we will do anything for you. _Anything_. We will lay down our lives to keep you safe ..."

"And is that what I want?", the prince yelled, glaring up with equally fiery intensity at his Beloved.

The two lovers glowered at one another until the king sighed and relented. 

"Very well. Yen, let him know he is welcome. And while he is here, we will make sure to keep him as far away from Jask and my granddaughter as possible."

***************************************************************************************

Jaskier knew Geralt was mad at him. Had been so for the last couple of days. 

_And if that was the price the prince had to pay to make sure his Beloved stayed safe and away from the carnage of battle, then he gladly would - his Witcher's vexation towards him be damned._

Entering his bedroom, he found the Wolf sitting on the bed, propped against the headboard, apparently engrossed in a fat volume on astronomy. But the angry scowl remained on that noble face, and the Witcher studiously ignored the prince as he walked around to the other side of the bed. Jaskier sighed as he perched himself on the edge of the bed.

"You plan on talking to me tonight?"

No answer.

"Is it my fault that Alvin wishes to come to visit?"

"No, it's your fault that he is getting that wish fulfilled", came the terse reply.

Jaskier let out a frustrated huff, then laid himself down on the bed. "You know I want to stay as far away from that traitor as I can, right?", he asked to the ceiling above him.

"Then let us keep that fucking bastard as far from you as possible. Let us deny him entry, come what may afterwards."

_Typical White Wolf. All answers lay in hewing and hacking at the enemy with his swords, when said enemy was decidedly dubious and couldn't be reasoned with fairly._

"You can keep me safe _while_ he is here - have you thought of that? I am not going to go anywhere close to him. I'll just stay by your side, and you are the best protection our child and I can ever have", Jaskier tried softening his grumpy Beloved a bit.

A resigned sigh came from beside him, followed by the extremely warm body of his Wolf curling up around him, cocooning him in strong, burly arms.

"I'm worried, Jasky", Geralt confessed honestly, his nose buried in Jaskier's hair and inhaling deeply in the scent of his human, "This does not bode well to me. That lowly, traitorous scum is up to something. And it's not him that I fear would be the most dangerous of our foes - I don't know who's coming as part of his entourage, and that makes me uneasy."

Jaskier snuggled closer into the confines of his Wolf's chest. "As long as I have you, I'm safe."

Cuddling and stealing soft, reassuring kisses from each other, the two lovebirds fell asleep, but it was restless with dark, sinister dreams of vague and inexplicable terror, awaiting a morning that would bring with it a cruel twist of fate.

****************************************************************************************

King Stephen was formal and curt in his greetings as he welcomed Prince Alvin of Lyria into his palace. And flanking the prince, came - not one, not two - but _three_ sorcerers and sorceresses. 

Vilgefortz, Stregobor and Fringilla. 

Three tremendously powerful mages, with skills unrivalled in their areas of expertise. And three supremely influential members of the Chapter of Sorcerers.

Geralt's eyes burned like bubbling pools of fiery golden magma as he looked on at the procession that was headed by the prince and his three mages - they had brought with them an apparently flimsy troop of merely ten soldiers - it was meant to appear as a ceremonial guard of honour, and could never be logically treated as a military threat of any kind. No other dignitaries accompanied the prince.

But the three Witchers who stood shoulder to shoulder behind the king, glaring daggers at the newcomers, all felt a deep sense of disquiet and apprehension, almost bordering on cold, mind-numbing fear, setting their teeth on edge. And if the tense, rigid postures of Yennefer, Triss (whom Yen had requested to be present as an additional and valuable reinforcement to Vengerberg's defense) and Mousesack (who had arrived the night before and whom Geralt had had no chance to talk to yet) were anything to go by, the feeling of unease was not affecting the Witchers alone.

_Three mages! Three!_

_This was anything but natural._

_And they could not challenge the decision to have three incredibly powerful mages accompany Alvin, or they would be risking the very war that Jaskier had so earnestly sought to avoid._

"I don't like this one bit", Lambert bit out in a whisper that ought to have been inaudible to everyone except Eskel and Geralt.

And yet, Geralt noted with fear clawing at his heart, how Fringilla, the youngest of the three court mages of Lyria (but one would be a fool to underestimate her because of her age) immediately looked up and fixed Lambert with a knowing, sardonic smile full of thinly veiled contempt.

_How could she hear as well as the Witchers? How were her senses this sharp?_

Prince Alvin, meanwhile, was speaking to the king and the queen of Vengerberg, and Geralt immediately felt his skin crawl and his blood boil at the haughty, supercilious tone which the arrogant arsehole used to address the two people he had come to respect as his Baba and Ma.

"The hospitality of your palace seems to have diminished a notch of late, don't you think, King Stephen?", Alvin brashly wondered, his eyes on the Witchers, the sorceresses and the druids, "No matter - I'm sure you two will make up for this lacklustre welcome by throwing a grand dinner in the palace hall tonight, hmm?"

The king and the queen glared at him but said nothing, but Yennefer had had quite enough. 

"Did you come all the way from Lyria just to sate your gluttonous appetite here in Vengerberg, sire? Has Lyria been running out of food lately?", the sorceress asked, her expression full of innocent surprise.

And the lecherous look that the prince directed at Yen, eyeing her up and down, made all three Witchers let out low growls in their throats and move to stand on either side of her and Triss. Yes, they knew that if any woman was capable of protecting herself and her loved ones and then some from some lascivious, pretentious jerk, Yen and Triss would rank top of that list. But they would be damned if they didn't stand up for the honour of their darling sorceress friends. And they would run Alvin and his ilk through with their swords without the slightest hesitation if they so much as _thought_ of glancing at these women the wrong way.

The prince, though, didn't choose to dwell on the jibe from Yen. Instead, with that salacious leer still plastered on his face, he just shrugged and wondered, cool and unruffled as ever, whether the guests would be made to stand in the sun for much longer. Of course, that remark put an end to any further conversation outdoors and, with evident reluctance on the part of the hosts, the Lyrians were ushered inside the palace.

*************************************************************************************

"Go check on your Beloved", urged Yennefer in a whisper, while Alvin and his mages were being seated in the palace's formal meeting hall, "Someone needs to go and let him know that everything's fine here. He would be worried sick."

Geralt nodded and was about to turn towards the door when Alvin spoke up.

"Hmm, I don't see my old friend, Prince Julian. Not sure if he mentioned to you, Your Highness, but we were _quite close_ , when we were classmates at Oxenfurt", he declared to the room at large quite cheerily, his mouth widening into a sneer as he emphasized on the phrase "quite close".

Geralt didn't realize that he was in danger of breaking his own teeth from clenching his jaws that hard, and that he was shaking uncontrollably in barely contained rage, until Eskel put a calming hand on his arm, anchoring him and not letting him go until he calmed down a fraction.

"Your business, whatever that may be, is with me, Prince Alvin. Prince Julian will not be required to get involved in that - I'm certain of it", King Stephen stated in a tone that brooked no argument.

"Oh but surely you don't mind two old friends catching up over tonight's grand dinner, do you? I must say that it won't sit well with the royal family of Lyria if their prince - an esteemed guest to Vengerberg - is denied the opportunity of simply conversing with his old friend, the prince of Vengerberg, over dinner. What do you say, Your Highness?"

Geralt knew there really was no choice here - unless Jaskier was feeling unwell, there would be no way, without offending this conceited prig, to prevent their meeting over tonight's dinner. And even if the royal family did cook up a lie about Jaskier not feeling hale enough to attend tonight's dinner, they certainly wouldn't be able to keep up that lie throughout Alvin's stay in Vengerberg.

Eskel didn't fail to notice the way his brother was absolutely seething at the audacity of the Lyrian prince - before Geralt could pounce upon the vile snake and erase that smug smile off his face with a lethal swing of his sword, he tightened his grip upon the White Wolf's arm and steered him outside the meeting hall. 

"Breathe, Geralt. This bastard won't be able to touch a hair on Jaskier's head. The king has expressly forbidden any private meeting between the two of them, and when Jaskier comes to attend dinner tonight, he will be surrounded by all of us. There to protect him and your child from any harm at a moment's notice. Your Beloved is safe from this monster, Geralt. Breathe, my brother!"

Eskel was right - Alvin won't be permitted to go anywhere within a mile of Jaskier without some fully capable mutant or druid present to shield Jaskier and to fight Alvin and his cronies to death, if necessary, should they so much as give the slightest hint that they meant Jaskier harm. And at dinner, Jaskier would be seated far from the Lyrians, and among people who were fiercely protective of the prince and his unborn child. He would be fine - nothing could go wrong, and nothing would.

As Geralt tried to repeat that last line to himself like a mantra, trying to calm himself down and trying not to sprint to Jaskier's chambers and hide his pregnant Beloved away in his chest, safe from all the terrors and perils of the world, Yennefer came out into the hallway, looking absolutely mutinous, her face flushed a dangerous shade of scarlet.

"Fucking pervert! The nerve of him! Requesting an audience with my brother ... my little brother ...", she muttered furiously, her violet eyes glittering with the promise of vengeance, "How dare he, after everything he has done to my poor Jask ..."

Eskel caught Yen by the arm and brought her close to himself and Geralt. "And now _you_ are having a conniption. Yen, Geralt, if you two lose your wits because of how much you despise that scoundrel, then you will just end up giving him and his mages an opportunity to do some mischief - which is exactly what they want, I feel. So, please, shall we collect ourselves a bit and try to think things through?"

Yen took a deep breath to steady herself. "You're right, Esk", she said, suddenly back to her brusque self, "Geralt, don't you worry - Triss and I have put extra layers of fortifications all over Jaskier's suite, and there are armed and liveried soldiers of the royal guard standing vigil right outside the doors to his chambers. He will be just fine. No one will be able to get in and out of his room without our knowledge. He is safe, and we will make sure he stays that way. Go, be with him."

*****************************************************************************************

That day at noon, Triss personally made sure to deliver lunch directly from the palace's pantry to Jaskier's bedroom through a portal she created. "Don't step out of your chambers unless you absolutely have to, Jaskier", she told the prince who lay on the bed with his head nestled in Geralt's lap, "And should you need to go anywhere at all outside, just let one of the liveried guards know that you need an escort, and he or she will come fetch one of us."

"Triss, you are a darling! Thank you!", the prince smiled up brightly at the kindly sorceress. "Yen has such amazing friends, doesn't she?", he added, raising his hand to cup his Beloved's chin.

"Hmm, but her adopted brother is even more amazing", said Geralt with an indulgent smile, gently mussing up his prince's chestnut-brown hair, "And Triss, truly, thank you for this!"

"Anything for my friends, Geralt. And I can't tell you how happy I am for you, old friend", she said with a smile full of honest sincerity, and placed an affectionate peck on Geralt's cheek and lovingly caressed Jaskier's belly before leaving the room through another portal.

"Come, let's eat. You need to eat in a timely manner", Geralt said briskly, very carefully helping Jaskier sit up.

"It's just that I am so nervous, Geralt", the prince admitted ruefully, his smile at Triss from a moment ago now slipping off his face, "Alvin is up to something. I think this constant stress is robbing me of my appetite."

"None of that, Jaskier", the Wolf reprimanded in a stern voice, "You leave the worrying to us. You take care of yourself and my daughter. Alright?"

He pulled the tray close, then ladling some soup into a bowl, started feeding his pregnant prince lunch. Jaskier smiled adoringly at him while munching on the morsels Geralt held up to his mouth. "How did I end up finding such a doting Wolf, Geralt? So fierce and gruff and tough on the outside, and so soft and sweet and fluffy on the inside?"

"I'm not a kitten, Jasky!", scoffed Geralt, but both of them ended up giggling like five-year-old kids who were in on some private joke, "Here, have this one last spoonful of the stew, and I won't insist anymore. Come on, now - eat!"

Once lunch was done, with Jaskier putting up many protests with his hands on his tummy, stating how full he already was, and Geralt insisting that the baby needed to eat, the tray and its contents were set aside, and Jaskier pulled Geralt down to the bed for cuddles.

"Stay", he whined, burrowing into Geralt's chest as the Wolf gently massaged his belly, "Why do you have to go?"

"Because Alvin and his mages need to see that we, the protectors of Vengerberg - and especially the people entrusted with the care and protection of you, my prince - are not shirking our duties. They need to see that we are out there, keeping a watchful eye on them and won't let them step out of line."

"Very well. Will you go to the meeting hall now? See if you don't get all bored and flustered and frazzled by all the diplomatic talks, while your Beloved lies here in bed, thinking of you and getting all aroused and wondering when you will come back to make love to him and feel your baby daughter kicking around inside his womb ...", the prince's hands wandered beneath Geralt's waistline, face alight with an evil smile.

"Oi! Stop!", Geralt gently but firmly grabbed the prince's hands and removed them, stopping them from sneaking further south. Then he hoisted himself on his arms and hovered above Jaskier, looking down hungrily at his deliciously plump, pregnant human, "You little minx - I ought to keep you pinned down and torture you with my love until you beg me to enter you! Just you wait - let our girl grow up a bit - then I am going to make love to you day and night until I get you with our second child, you horny human!". 

He observed with his heart in his mouth how his Beloved blushed a beautiful shade of crimson, his eyes widened with love and desire, his lips parted slightly and his breaths came rapid and shallow. Before he could help himself, the White Wolf lowered his mouth and locked his lips with Jaskier's in a long, deep, passionate kiss, putting all the love and warmth he felt for his sweetheart into the kiss. They stayed like that, holding each other close as the tender kisses were repeated again and again, each unwilling to let the other go.

"I will think of you every moment I am away from you, dear heart", promised Geralt, cupping Jaskier's face and planting a kiss on his forehead, "I shall go train with Eskel and Lambert, then be with the king and Yen while they attend meetings with Alvin's mages. Mousesack and Triss will also likely be there. Don't worry, just rest and take a nap for now. Dinner will be early tonight. One of us will come get you for dinner, okay?"

Jaskier sighed, his eyes shining wetly as he brought his Beloved's hand up to press a kiss on the knuckles. "Please be safe, Geralt. I don't trust Alvin as far as I can throw him. And I assure you I cannot throw him very far at all", he said, making Geralt chuckle, "And I shall miss you every moment you stay away from me, until you come back to my arms tonight."

"Tonight", Geralt promised, then reluctantly took his leave of his prince.

*****************************************************************************************

Jaskier must have dozed off within only a few minutes of Geralt's departure. 

He awoke with a start, his groggy and exhausted mind unable to pinpoint what the source for the weird popping sound had been. He raised his head a fraction of an inch and looked around with bleary eyes. 

_To notice a very familiar, and totally unexpected, face staring down at him._

"Oh, look at you, my poor Julian! Can you even move with that giant belly of yours, my old flame?", Alvin positively gloated down at the terrified young prince who was desperately trying to scoot away from his looming frame, arms trying to shield his belly from any impending assault.

"Al-alvin, h-how did you get in here? Yen will know about this", Jaskier cursed himself for how weak and scared and pathetic he sounded, and how his voice wavered despite his best attempt to threaten Alvin.

And all that it resulted in was Alvin letting out a hearty chuckle.

"Did you hear that, my friends? We'll get caught and we'll get punished, for sneaking into His Highness' chambers without his express permission", his cruel face split in a jeering laugh that was echoed from elsewhere around the room.

And that was when the absolutely petrified Jaskier looked around ... 

_... to find that two other people stood inside his chambers._

One was a tall, pale white man, his appearance declaring him to be quite old yet surprisingly fit, with a high forehead and receding hairline, and graying beard and mustache. The other was an equally tall, curvy, beautiful woman, dark of skin, her jet-black hair trimmed short, her voluptuous lips curved in a mocking smile as she regarded Jaskier like a leopardess regarding her prey.

"Ah, yes! Where are my manners?", the Lyrian prince shook his head, "Allow me to introduce you to my good friends and court mages - Stregobor and Fringilla."

"Your Highness, what a pleasure", said the white-bearded man, and the three intruders erupted in laughter again.

"What do you want, Alvin?", Jaskier tried to talk despite his throat going impossibly dry.

"Well, I want you to come with me to Lyria, of course, my love! You are, after all, pregnant with my child - my heir! I wish to claim her as my own. Of course, not without marrying you, my sweet darling."

Alvin made to reach out and cup Jaskier's face, but the pregnant prince swatted away his hand as his expression morphed into that of utter revulsion.

"Fuck off, Alvin! Just piss off! You abandoned me, you son of a bitch! It doesn't matter that she is born of your seed - she is NOT YOURS! Both she and I belong with Geralt of Rivia now. He is the one I am all set to marry, and he is the father of my child, understood? I loathe you with my entire being, and you will NEVER EVER TOUCH ME OR MY CHILD AGAIN. WE ARE GERALT'S NOW, AND WE WILL STAY THAT WAY!", Jaskier spat out the words, panting in rage while his hands cradled his belly protectively.

The Lyrian prince straightened, and the smile disappeared from his face, to be replaced with an expression so cold and ruthless that it made Jaskier shiver.

"So you won't come willingly with me, will you Jaskier? When I ask your father for your hand in marriage tonight, you will tell him that you don't want me, is that right?", he asked, his head tilting as if he was wondering what Jaskier's answer would be.

Jaskier summoned all his courage and strength, and spat into Alvin's face.

"YOU BASTARD! YOU WILL DARE !! You will dare to ask Baba for my hand, will you, hmm? See if he doesn't cut off your hand in reply, you slimy, obnoxious, vile ..."

He couldn't finish the sentence.

Because Fringilla stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face.

Jaskier nearly fell off the bed with the force of the slap. His arms tried to wrap around his belly as he curled in on himself, whimpering as tears pricked his eyes.

_Geralt, baby, where are you?_

_I need you. They are hurting me. Please, Geralt ..._

_Yen, Esk, Lambert, Triss ... please ... someone ... anyone ..._

"Tut-tut! You are as stubborn as I remember you from our college days together, Jaskier. Seems like you haven't grown an ounce of sense in that head of yours, my darling", Alvin's voice dripped contempt as he paced in front of the bed, "Well, it seems nothing can persuade you to change your mind, right?"

Jaskier glanced up from where he lay in a tight ball, and his cornflower-blue eyes grew hard as two glittering pieces of sapphire as he looked at Alvin with disgust.

"NOTHING! Since you are so eager to have my child as your successor, I doubt you will dare hurt her, Alvin. Me - you can torture as much as you want, you fucker - but you will never ever have my heart again. I BELONG TO GERALT, YOU HEAR ME? FUCK OFF!"

"Hmm, admirable - this courage of yours, Jaskier. But, as you will see in just a few seconds, old friend, I actually _can_ change your mind."

Jaskier sneered at Alvin with disdain, knowing full well his threats were empty.

"But let's not run off to the end of the story and ruin the climax like that, shall we?", Alvin smirked. "Hmm, where to begin? Ah yes! You see, these two", he pointed at his two cronies, "Are not your average royal-court mages. These are rather special mages - wielders of a rather distinctive, and rather useful, kind of dark magic. You were trying to scare us off earlier with the threat of your 'Yen' knowing about our intrusion here, right? Well, turns out that neither your darling 'Yen' nor her friend Triss Merigold has the faintest idea that we are here. That's because this very special sort of dark magic is - shall we say - not very easily detectable. Opening a portal using this dark magic gives out no warning signal whatsoever to your sorceress friends, I'm afraid, Jaskier."

Jaskier froze. He found it hard to draw breaths as his frantic mind recalled snippets of a past conversation between Yen and Geralt.

_"... it's considerably more treacherous too, Geralt. It can hide in plain sight."  
"What do you mean?"  
"... if we had not specifically sought it - we would really not have noticed anything amiss ..."  
"... cunningly concealed the fissure its penetration created ..."  
"... If we didn't know to look for it, our eyes and senses would have glossed over the rift without suspecting its presence."_

Alvin, meanwhile, was continuing. "It is also this particular kind of dark magic that allowed them to know, despite the vast distance between Lyria and Vengerberg, that the child that you are carrying is endowed with unbridled, unharnessed magical powers. Quite impressive, wouldn't you say?"

Had Jaskier not been nearly frenetic with the fear that was smothering his heart, he would have looked downright comical the way he gaped at Alvin with an incredulous stare.

"I know what you're thinking. I was surprised too, trust me. But of course, once I knew, I couldn't pass up this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, now, could I? Just imagine - this girl will be trained by me and my worthy mages - trained to manipulate her powers and do _my_ bidding! Can you imagine what an invincible ruler she will make for Lyria? My heiress - my seed - leading Lyria on a victorious conquest of the entire Continent!"

And with a sinking heart, Jaskier recalled yet another conversation where Yen had conjectured why Jaskier experienced the rather vicious cramps while Geralt was being attacked and injured by the fleders.

_"I think, Lambert, that Jask, or his baby, or both of them - they were trying to call out to Geralt. To give him some manner of warning. To pull him away from the perimeter, to shield him from the impending attack."_

Except that it was not Jaskier whose subconscious had been trying to pull back Geralt to safety, but rather, their daughter - the unborn child who, thanks to her magical prowess, had been able to sense the danger awaiting the man she had come to accept as her other father - and tried to warn him.

"So yes, that is basically why I want to marry you, Jaskier - not out of any vestiges of my love for you, you piteous, wretched weakling", Alvin cackled in derision, "And once I found out, of course, I couldn't quite let the stupid, ugly bitch of Rivia marry me and be my queen consort, or I would have to accept her fucking firstborn as my heir. So, I was compelled to remove her", he sighed in a mockery of regret.

_Oh, the monster! The cold-blooded murderer!_

"And now, Jaskier, we come to the main twist in the story. That is, why _you_ , my darling, will be saying yes to your father tonight when he asks you if you want to marry me."

Roughly, Alvin grabbed Jaskier's shoulder and made him sit up, the poor prince wincing in pain as the abrupt movement put pressure on his belly.

_Geralt, please! Baby, I need you ... I need you so badly ... our child ... my belly hurts ..._

It was Stregobor who spoke now. "Watch carefully, Your Highness."

With that, the sorcerer extended his hands and instantly, a small light, like an eerie blue will-o'-the-wisp, materialized in the air just above his palms. It steadily grew into an enormous ball, the centre of which cleared out but the rim kept shimmering with little currents of air that sparkled blue.

And in that clear centre, there appeared a scene.

_Geralt and Eskel. Practicing with their swords in the training yard._

Jaskier gasped.

"You see, Jaskier, there is quite a disadvantage in having to extinguish the life of a royal spawn, however low in standing compared to Lyria. Had I not been careful in my methods, the mages of Rivia would inevitably have been able to detect that it was a murder, and would have even succeeded in deducing what kind of weapon, poison or magical spell had been employed to accomplish the task. Which, unfortunately, would have been bad news for me, since my dearest father has no idea of my intentions and my ambition, you see. But ...", Alvin paused for dramatic effect, "My lovely Fringilla here discovered a very, very neat way of finishing unwanted people off. Using this."

Out of the folds of his cloak, the prince fished out a minuscule ampoule containing some sort of luminous substance.

"What you see in this teeny tiny ampoule is an example of her genius", Alvin threw Fringilla an indulgent smile and the sorceress bowed her head in gratitude, "It's actually a spell that has been given a corporeal form. It's lethal, and practically untraceable. You insert it into someone's bloodstream through a tiny incision in their flesh, and the spell will seal the cut as if it never existed, and it will spread to every cell of their body. And then it will just bide its time, and do absolutely nothing. _Nothing_."

Jaskier felt like someone's vice-like talons had clamped down on his heart, and his breathing was now positively laboured, and he could feel the telltale signs cramps beginning to tear through his lower abdomen.

_The nekurat. It's bite left not a trace on Geralt's arm._

_Melitele! Is this what you had in store for us, cruel goddess?_

_Why could you not punish me? Why did you have to punish Geralt? For loving me? Is that his fault?_

Alvin brought his face very close to the now uncontrollably shaking Jaskier, his eyes glinting with cruel malice as he grinned maniacally down at the pregnant human.

"That is, until, _I_ want the spell to start playing with my victim."

He gripped Jaskier's chin painfully hard and turned the prince's face to look at Fringilla.

The sorceress slid her glove off her left hand to reveal a single ring, set with a lurid red stone the size of a pigeon's egg, and closing her eyes and muttering some incantations, she rubbed the stone with the index finger of her right hand.

Jaskier's eyes automatically veered to the scene inside the ball glowing and hovering above Stregobor's palm.

_Geralt faltered._

_His sword clattered to the stone floor of the yard and he bent down to pick it up._

_"Geralt, you okay, brother?", Eskel rushed to his side, looking concerned._

_And as Geralt raised his head, Jaskier saw ..._

_... a single trail of blood trickling down from his Beloved's nostril._

_"You're bleeding from your nose, Geralt!", Eskel's voice was anxious, and Lambert entered the scene, striding towards Geralt._

_Geralt wiped his nose and stared at the back of his hand, his expression perplexed. "I have no idea why!"_

_"Do you feel well, Geralt?", Lambert's gruff voice wafted out of the ball._

_"Yes, absolutely fine, Lambert. Not sure why I am suddenly bleeding from my nose."_

The scene dissolved, the ball collapsed, and Jaskier broke down in sobs.

"Now now, Jaskier, no need to be so upset, love", Alvin said smoothly, placing an arm around the brokenly sobbing prince, "This is but a taste of what is to happen, should you not acquiesce gracefully and with utter gratitude to my proposal, my darling!"

"Please, Alvin, please! Not him... hurt me, not him!"

"Of course, my love! I won't dream of hurting the White Wolf! Not unless his precious human misbehaves, yes?"

"I'll do _anything_ , Alvin, _anything_ you ask..."

"Good boy!", the Lyrian prince clapped his hands in a show of surprise, "Such a good boy, do you see, Streg? Fring? What did I tell you? My darling little pregnant sweetheart will do absolutely anything we ask of him."

Surging forward, he slammed his lips onto a startled Jaskier's, biting down brutally and making the prince cry out in pain. He then pressed his palms abruptly and with considerable pressure on the pregnant human's tummy, causing Jaskier to scream. When he let go, Jaskier's lower lip was bruised and swollen, a bead of bright red blood blooming on it.

"If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone in this palace, Jaskier, know that that moment will be the last you will see of your beloved Wolf. And trust me, my love, you don't want to see what this spell does to its victim before it kills him."

"I won't tell anyone, Alvin, please ... please don't make the spell hurt him ... please, I beg you ..."

"When I ask your father tonight to marry you to me, you will say yes and you will say it like you mean it. Not only that, until such times as we are able to begin our journey back to Lyria, which I believe will be day after tomorrow morning at the earliest, you will act as if you _genuinely_ want this marriage to take place, and you will not betray your true feelings about it to anyone. _Anyone_ at all. Especially not to your Wolf. You with me so far?"

Jaskier gulped and nodded, tears now streaming down his cheeks.

"You will make it clear to the White Wolf exactly how much you wish to be with me, and how much you _do not_ want him in your life anymore. If he comes to you, no matter - but you will make sure _you_ don't go anywhere close to him by yourself. And should he be in close proximity to you, you will not initiate _any_ intimacy whatsoever with him. Do not forget for a moment, Julian, that you will be under the constant and, might I add, infallible surveillance of Fringilla and Stregobor here, and so will be the rest of your close associates in this palace. You will convince him that your place is by _my_ side, and that you _will_ leave for Lyria as soon as possible with me, or Melitele help the love of your life, Julian!"

"I'll do it! I'll do it all! Please don't hurt him, I beg you, Alvin. Please!"

"Excellent, my sweetheart! It seems we are _all_ done here. Come on, Fring! Streg!"

"Alvin!", a strangled sob tore out of Jaskier's throat, "If I do as you say, will you remove the spell from him? Please, Alvin?"

The Lyrian prince turned around, his mouth curled up in a smile of pure sadistic pleasure, "But of course, Jaskier! Why waste a life? I don't kill without reason, sweetheart - did you think I am such a barbaric monster, hmm? Of course, I shall let your darling Witcher live on, happily ever after, once you and your child are mine. The spell will automatically deactivate itself in about a month from now, by which time you will have been comfortably married to me, and with any luck, will have birthed my child. Don't you fret, my baby!"


	15. Breaking your heart, so that it may continue to beat, Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have tried to make this fanfiction a healthy mixture of soft love, affection, bonds between family members (by blood and by choice), emotional and physical intimacy, suspense and thrill and dark magic, and as I hint towards the end of this section, battle to come (oh and of course, male pregnancy, labour, and all nine yards of that LOL). As promised in the summary of the last chapter, this one is a ship-load of angst, along with suspense and fear, cruelty and evil, and gathering resistance against said evil. So PLEASE - LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK, WILL YA? :-D
> 
> As a side note - in that last bit, I just could not help it - I am rather enthusiastic about cryptography and I wanted to incorporate a teensy bit of that into this fanfic LOL :-D If some of you are interested, I was thinking more of a base 3 encryption algorithm in this case, as opposed to the much more well known binary system.
> 
> PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW :-D

When Triss led Jaskier into the dining hall that night, he was welcomed by an awkward silence prevailing over the scene - King Stephen, Queen Parveen, Yen, the Witchers and the druids all stood, tense and glowering, on one side of the long mahogany table, while the four Lyrians stood, utterly at ease and smirking superciliously, on the other side of the table.

The moment Geralt's eyes landed on Jaskier, the Wolf swiftly walked over to him and drew him into his arms, in full view of the room, and placed a kiss on his forehead for good measure. But upon pulling back and examining the prince's face up close, his brow furrowed. 

"How did you cut your lip, Jasky? And what's this bruise on your cheek, right next to your mouth?", the Witcher gingerly touched the purpling bruise where Fringilla's hand had made contact with Jaskier's cheek when she had viciously slapped him.

"I-it's nothing", stammered Jaskier, extricating himself from Geralt's embrace and taking a step back.

"Jasky, what's wrong?", the Witcher's face fell immediately, and his eyes widened in concern and hurt. And Jaskier nearly moaned from the way his heart gave a painful twinge.

_I am so, so, so sorry, Beloved, but I have to. I **have** to! For **you** , Geralt, so that **you** may live ..._

_I shall willingly pay the price of being torn from your side, Beloved - to be sundered forever from you - if it means that you will continue to exist **somewhere** in this wide world, no matter how far that place is from me, and how utterly beyond my reach ..._

_I shall force myself to inflict this anguish of heartbreak upon you, dear heart, no matter how much I wither and die inside, so that **your** heart may continue to beat ..._

_My happiness, my dreams and desires, my needs can all go to hell, Geralt, if it means that **you** will survive ..._

_Some day - not today, but some day - you will forget all about the weak, pathetic, fickle-minded traitor of a prince who promised to be yours and then abandoned you for his former lover, and you will learn to love someone else, and you will be happy and will smile and laugh and kiss and make love again - you will have a family with that lucky sweetheart of yours ..._

_And as the last of my mouldering remains disappear into the depths of this earth, and my soul becomes one with the stars above, I shall watch over you two and your family, and my actions of today will all have been worth it ..._

"Julian! What a pleasure it is, old friend!", boomed Alvin, a toothy grin splitting his face from ear to ear, "Come, sit with me, won't you, sweetheart?"

"NO!", Geralt and Yennefer let out matching roars, while King Stephen simultaneously yelled "Absolutely not!"

Alvin's eyes swiveled from the king, to Yennefer, to Geralt, and he smirked. Then, his eyes settled on Jaskier, and those coal-black irises glinted balefully in the candlelight - the eyes of a ravenous monster, flashing in cruel, mirthless laughter.

"Yes."

Every single pair of eyes in the room snapped around to focus on the downcast face of the diminutive, forlorn, heavily pregnant prince of Vengerberg.

"Jaskier, what are you saying?", Geralt turned around to face the prince with an agitated undertone to his voice, even as Yen and Eskel quickly made their way to the pair.

"Jask, we agreed that you will sit among us and you will be safe", Yen whispered urgently, her eyes holding confusion and worry, "You wanted us to keep you as far apart from that depraved arsehole as possible, remember?"

"I understand that you are worried, Yen. But I'll be fine, I promise."

"Jaskier, you are behaving oddly", remarked Eskel and Jaskier was not surprised - Eskel was always the most insightful and perceptive of the lot, though Geralt and Yennefer came very close behind - "Has something happened, Jaskier?"

The prince shook his head, then nervously backed away from his most beloved people and started making his way towards the Lyrian side of the table.

Geralt caught his arm in a tight grip. "Jasky, baby, no!", his whispered in a strained voice, "If they try to hurt you, I won't be able to shield you in time..."

"Geralt, please", the prince whispered weakly.

"It's not very polite to restrain your prince when he's clearly eager to come join me, Sentinel", Alvin's voice was cheerful but Jaskier did not miss the menace it was laced with, "Isn't that right, Julian? My patience is wearing thin, old friend", he finished, patting the seat next to him.

Geralt sneered at Alvin, his eyes burning like embers, "You will not come within a mile of my lover without me in between, you vile snake!"

Alvin said nothing, but Jaskier saw, with horror dawning in his heart, the suggestive manner in which Fringilla started peeling off her gloves - first the right and then the left - revealing the ring with the red stone.

Desperate, he whirled around to face Geralt.

"Sentinel, I said LET GO! That's an order!", he all but yelled.

The Vengerberg side of the room gasped in unison.

And Geralt let go of Jaskier's arm as if scalded.

_Oh, the hurt in those beautiful, beautiful, golden eyes ... oh!_

_The way they immediately widened and started shining wetly - to some extent in shock but much, much more so in pain ..._

_The way my Beloved is standing there - my strong, proud, noble Beloved - his eyes reflecting nothing but pain and shocked disbelief, a barely perceptible tremor beginning to take hold of his frame, his breaths coming shallow and uneven ..._

_Melitele, wouldn't it have been easier for you to just slit my throat and let me drown in my own blood?_

_Did you really have to make me watch as, with my very own hands, I shatter piece after piece after piece of my dearest Beloved's heart?_

_How can I go through with this, Melitele?! **He is my everything - he is my life - without him, I am nothing! NOTHING!**_

_And that is precisely why I have to keep doing this to him ... and when it is all over, may I be cast into the deepest abyss of hell for hurting him so, o cruel, heartless goddess!_

Slowly, the pregnant prince turned away from his lover, furiously blinking back his own tears and trying to swallow the lump that was now lodged in his throat. And slowly, he made his way to the Lyrian side of the table, and seated himself between Alvin on his left and Fringilla on his right.

"This is much better, don't you think, Witcher?", Alvin winked at Geralt, who had yet to take his eyes off the prince of Vengerberg who sat with eyes lowered to the plates and cutlery on the table, "Now, let's all sit down peacefully and enjoy this dinner, shall we? I'm famished, and I can't wait to try the tastes of Vengerberg." And with that, he let his gaze linger salaciously over Yen and Triss who stood on either side of Geralt.

"Geralt, come on!", Yen placed a hand on her best friend's arm, her own violet eyes shining with anger, shock and hurt as well. She tore her gaze from where her brother now sat docilely between Alvin and his youngest court mage. "Let's go sit down."

"He is not sitting that far from us, Geralt. We'll be able to protect him should the need arise", added Triss quietly, as she also tried to guide her old friend back to his seat on the other side of the table.

The king, who still stood with his face blanched in shock and pain as he stared at his darling son on the other side of the table incredulously, managed to collect himself, thanks to the reassuring hand the queen, equally hurt and bewildered, placed on his arm. Sitting down heavily on his throne, he struck the small gong next to him with a gavel.

The doors opened, and servants marched in, balancing laden trays, and started serving everyone.

"So, Your Highness", began Alvin, and insouciant smile playing on his lips as he addressed King Stephen without the slightest hint of reverence in his tone, "Without further ado, let me get straight to the point - the reason for my gracing your halls with my presence."

He paused, surveying the faces staring at him with open hostility and revulsion from across the table.

"I humbly ask for your son's hand in marriage."

The king stood up so fast that his chair toppled backwards. The queen, Geralt and Yen weren't far behind.

Jaskier couldn't help but timidly glance up at the White Wolf - the first time, since sitting down, that he had looked up from his plate (where he had been pushing his food around, not a morsel making it to his mouth). Geralt stood shaking, his beautiful face flaming crimson and warped in rage, his eyes flashing as if with golden lightnings. 

"You ... you dare ...", the king stuttered, too worked up in his fury to speak coherently.

And Alvin raised a hand as if to silence him.

"Before you waste your breath on how impertinent and audacious I am in asking for such a thing, Your Highness, let's hear what your own son has to say. Julian, darling, are you opposed to this marriage?"

Jaskier felt like he had lost his voice. How could he? How could he answer this question, while his Beloved stood there looking at him? Stood there with his amber-gold orbs searing holes into Jaskier with their fiery intensity?

Very slowly, he raised his face to look at the people who stood or sat on the other side of the table, their eyes trained on him, their expressions twisting with varying degrees of puzzlement, anxiety and, especially in case of Geralt and Yennefer, hurt. 

He found himself unable, for a few seconds, to look away from Geralt. The White Wolf stood directly in front of him across the table, forehead creased in a pained frown, eyes boring into Jaskier's with heart-rending pain and baffled incredulity, panting a little as if finding it hard to breathe. Finding it hard to believe this question was _at all_ being raised in the first place.

_May you never forgive me, Beloved, for the pain I am about to inflict upon you._

_I do not deserve your forgiveness. I only deserve your wrath, your hatred, your abhorrence, your deepest loathing and resentment._

_Never forgive me, Beloved. Never._

And tearing his eyes from Geralt's face, the prince looked straight at his father, and said, with as calm a voice as he could muster, "I am willing to marry Alvin, Baba."

If a pin had been dropped in the entire cavernous dining hall at that moment, it would have reverberated like a cannon shot.

And then, the sound of a glass being smashed filled the air.

Jaskier jumped at the sound, and his eyes were drawn to Geralt.

_Geralt, who stood there with his wine glass crushed into a million pieces in his hand, jagged shards buried deep into his palm - his palm that was now dripping rivulets of blood._

Jaskier's heart cracked in two.

Unbeknownst to himself, his body started to rise off the chair, his feet eager to carry him to the other side of the table, his hands yearning to cradle his Beloved's hand and pick out every last splinter of broken glass, clean the wounds, rub salves on them, bandage them up lovingly ...

And before he could get to his feet, Fringilla casually flicked aside the hem of her bell-sleeve and rested her left hand on top of the table, right next to Jaskier, revealing the red stone that glinted dully in the candlelight.

Jaskier dropped back in his seat, his hands on his abdomen.

_Melitele, have mercy on this wretched soul!_

"Jask, you are promised to Geralt!"

Jaskier had never heard Yen this hurt, this broken, this lost.

_Never forgive me, sister dearest. Never._

_I am a monster who is clawing at your best friend's heart, ripping it into shreds._

_And I deserve nothing but your fury, your curses, your hatred._

The prince squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, deep breath, before opening them and looking up, straight into a pair of shimmering gold-amber orbs.

"A promise that has not been formalized through any engagement ceremony whatsoever, Yennefer. And therefore, a promise that means _nothing_."

And watched, as those gold-amber orbs brimmed with tears.

_Melitele, end my life. End it, before I break him any further._

Triss picked up a napkin next to her and started tending to Geralt's hand, but the White Wolf just stood there, his pain-hazed eyes seeing little as they looked on at his Beloved, tears now beginning to trickle down his cheeks.

"Julian", it was the queen's voice that rang out, and the prince shivered as his mind registered the anger it was imbued with - an emotion totally incongruous to the loving, kindly, motherly nature of the queen - "I am ashamed to call you my son. This is not who your Baba and I brought you up to be."

Jaskier clamped down on the sobs threatening to break free of his chest.

_Yes, Ma, you are right. You did not bring me up to be a monster._

_Never forgive me, Ma. Never forgive the son who broke your heart, who depleted all his honour. Who turned out to be nothing more than a deplorable traitor._

"Julian, what you are saying - what you are intending to go with - cannot be undone if you proceed too far ... I hope you know that, son", the king sounded wearied, and the caveat came out more like a tired sigh.

_I know, Baba. But perhaps, once I am gone forever from your life, you will find peace again._

_Never forgive your unworthy son, Baba. Never._

"I am aware. And I still wish to marry Alvin."

"See? No need for so much drama", Alvin threw a wink and an impudent smile at the shocked, distraught, hurt king and queen, "He clearly is still in love with me, Your Highness. And needless to say, it is _my_ child he is carrying. Isn't that right, Julian darling?"

Leaning forward, the Lyrian prince caught hold of Jaskier's chin, and before the poor pregnant human could flinch away, pulled him into a rough kiss.

"Return the kiss, or the Wolf drops dead this moment, Your Highness", said Fringilla's cold, aloof voice inside Jaskier's head.

Jaskier jumped, then surged forward into the kiss.

_And heard a pained whimper, as Geralt collapsed onto his seat, clutching at his chest._

When they broke apart, which was thankfully only after a few seconds, Jaskier felt like someone had forced live leeches down his throat. It was all he could do to not gag and throw up.

"So, Your Highness, Julian and I have decided that it is for the best if the baby is delivered in Lyria. Because, of course, she is the heir to the throne of Lyria first, and then Vengerberg, as I am sure you are aware, according to the hierarchy of power. And for this reason, we will be setting out for Lyria day after tomorrow, early in the morning."

"Alvin, my son may have acquiesced to this marriage and I am well aware I can do nothing about that, but as his parent and guardian, I _can_ decide when it is safe for him to travel to Lyria. He is nearly nine months pregnant, and he will _not_ be traveling anywhere at all at this time, I assure you", Queen Parveen's authoritarian voice boomed through the dining hall.

"Indeed?", Alvin tilted his head, regarding the queen with a contemptuous sneer, "Julian, tell her."

Jaskier swallowed thickly. The damage was done now, and not much else was to be lost. He looked straight at his queen mother and spoke. "Alvin is right. We will be leaving for Lyria day after tomorrow. As early as possible."

The king and the queen slumped in their seats. Yennefer, face turned resolutely away from Jaskier, put an arm around her adoptive mother in an attempt to comfort her.

Jaskier, unable to restrain himself any longer, ventured a glance at Geralt.

And felt like someone had reached inside his rib-cage and crushed his heart - mangling it beyond any possible repair.

_Geralt sat there, his face contorted in unbearable, unspeakable agony._

_His bewildered, dazed gold eyes fixed on Jaskier through a veil of tears, and tears streamed, unchecked, down his face._

_His lips wobbled, his breaths came ragged and laboured, and he panted like a wounded animal._

_Pain. So much pain._

_Pain that Jaskier had buffeted Geralt with, slicing through his heart and drilling into his mind._

_Pain that now rolled off Geralt in waves, and slammed into Jaskier, making him nearly keel over._

_Pain that, Jaskier knew, would soon extinguish his life's force, hopefully giving him enough time to deliver his sweet baby daughter._

******************************************************************************************

Jaskier sat on his bed, the slump of his shoulders speaking volumes of his despondence, his entire room dark except for a tiny stub of a candle burning in the alcove, illuminating merely a fraction of the room with its dying light.

 _Dying, just like I am, inside_ \- the prince thought mournfully.

He didn't have the energy to stir when he heard a whooshing sound. In the next second, the darkness of the room was dispelled and the shadows fled as the brilliant blue effulgence of a circular portal lit up the chamber, and out stepped through the gateway six people. Jaskier stared up at them, unable to rouse himself from the near-torpor his benumbed mind had sunk into.

Yennefer was, unsurprisingly, the first to rush to his side (Jaskier registered vaguely how the White Wolf stayed away - his stance hesitant and unsure - and the prince's heart twisted in anguish).

"Jask, what's going on? This is not you. This is **not** you, Jask! The Jask I know would never say the things he said over dinner." She shook him gently, careful of his very advanced pregnancy. 

"Yen", Jaskier made himself speak despite how his body just screamed in protest, wanting nothing but the bliss of sleep, hoping that this was nothing more than a figment of a bizarre, terrifying nightmare, "I ... I have to do this. I am doing what's right, Yen."

"Hurting my best friend is _right_ , Jask?"

Jaskier felt like someone had stabbed him.

"It's Alvin's baby, Yen."

"And just because she came of Alvin's seed means that he is her rightful father, when he abandoned you right after you conceived, Jaskier? Nothing else matters, right? None of the love _I_ showered upon her, hmm? She is no longer _my_ daughter, is she?"

_Jaskier wished fervently that Geralt's voice would hold nothing but anger and resentment towards him._

_And yet, all it held was a mixture of heart-wrenching pain, earnest imploring and exhaustion._

Geralt strode forward, unable to stay away from his Beloved anymore. Crouching down by the bedside, the White Wolf gripped the prince's shoulders, trying to make eye contact.

"Jasky, look into my eyes and tell me you are doing this out of love."

Jaskier wanted to laugh. 

_Oh, what a joke! What a masterful architect of misery life was!_

_Here was Geralt, asking him a question that could be interpreted in so many ways!_

_The fun part was: if Jaskier replied "yes", he would be totally truthful, and yet Geralt would never know the truth!_

And so, the prince looked into his Beloved's eyes, and said the only thing he could.

"Yes, Geralt. I am doing this out of love."

Geralt's hands slid off Jaskier's arms. And the mighty White Wolf plopped down on the floor, utterly spent.

"You promised, Jasky. You promised to be mine. I have lost count of how many times you said you love me. All those times we spent together ... all those times we held each other ... all those times we leaned on each other ... all those times we made love ..."

"It was a good way to pass the time, Sentinel."

Jaskier knew he was too far gone now, and he knew he had succeeded in shattering his Wolf's heart too well. And so, he now just wanted to drive the final blow home. Sever everything. Destroy it all. 

_Just so that Geralt would be able to hate him, loathe him, despise him, deplore him that much faster, that much easier._

_Just so that Geralt would be able to get over him that much quicker and seek out someone better - someone more deserving of the noble White Wolf's heart._

Triss and Mousesack let out collective gasps, while Lambert growled, ever protective of his little brother. Yen crouched down swiftly and put her arms around Geralt, her eyes now flashing menacingly as she glared up at Jaskier, and it was all the prince could do to not weep at such open animosity from his adopted sister.

"Come on, Geralt. Let's go", she tried to help the Wolf up to his feet, though Geralt just kept sitting there staring up at Jaskier, tears soaking his face, lips trembling like autumn leaves, chest rising and falling in painfully rattling breaths, quiet sobs working their way up his throat.

"Jasky ..."

"You heard your sorceress, Sentinel. I need some sleep now - can't afford to look like shit in front of Alvin tomorrow. You all mind leaving your prince alone for the night?"

Jaskier wasn't sure how he was managing to put up such a wondrously convincing act, while his heart just kept crumbling into smaller and smaller fragments.

"Wait!", Eskel spoke up all of a sudden, "You said you are doing this out of love, Jaskier, right?"

Jaskier glanced up at Eskel, putting on a facade of utter nonchalance.

"Love for whom, Jaskier? Alvin? Or Geralt?"

And just like that, Eskel shattered the facade.

"Wh-what?"

"Somehow, I doubt you are doing this out of love for Alvin, Jaskier. Which leaves only one choice. You are doing this for Geralt."

The room seemed to have suddenly run out of all air.

Jaskier gulped like a fish out of water. Eskel sat down on the bed, one hand reaching out to clasp Jaskier's.

"Is my brother in danger, Jaskier? Have they threatened to harm Geralt? Are you being blackmailed to do this, Jaskier?"

Jaskier's eyes were very wide now, and his breaths were shallow and rapid. He gaped, petrified and unable to blink, at Eskel. Triss took the opportunity of these few moments of stunned silence in the room to scoot towards Jaskier on the bed, and put her arms around him.

"Jaskier, please tell us. Please. What's going on? Are they threatening to hurt Geralt? Or anyone else you love? Yen? Your parents? Your little one? Please, speak up. Speak up without fear. Now!"

Mousesack spoke up. "Please, my prince, don't stay silent. Speak! We can help! If you are being coerced into this, then we can help! If you believe we are all being watched, then give us a sign! Some kind of clue, so that we would know how best to help you!"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Your Highness", Fringilla's ice-cold voice sounded inside Jaskier's mind, making him flinch violently. A reaction that Geralt and Yen did not miss.

Geralt sat back up on his knees and cupped his Beloved's face in his palms, and tearful gold eyes looked into cornflower-blue ones beseechingly, "Beloved, please! What is going on? Please don't do this! I **know** you love me, Jasky! I **know** you did not fake it. It was all real, all genuine, all sincere. Then why? Why, Jaskier, why?"

He ended up resting his head on the prince's belly, embracing its bulge with his arms, and began to weep.

_Melitele, may I not put my arms around him to comfort him? Just this once, Melitele?_

_Just this once, may I not hold him? My beautiful White Wolf is falling apart, cruel goddess, and I am forced to watch it all! May I not at least wipe away his tears?_

"You are treading on very thin ice here, Your Highness", warned Fringilla inside Jaskier's head.

"Geralt, move your hands off me. MOVE THEM! NOW!", Jaskier snapped, his eyes blazing as he looked down at Geralt.

The White Wolf obliged. And when he looked back up at the prince, his countenance was twisted in such anguish that Jaskier nearly doubled over in pain.

"Don't you dare touch me again, Sentinel! Remember who I am - your prince - not someone lowly you can fondle, you lecherous bastard. LEAVE ME ALONE! NOW!"

_Every word, Jaskier knew, hit his Beloved like a physical blow._

_But what Geralt would never know was how every single one of those vitriolic words ricocheted off him and struck his Beloved square in the chest._

_And it was all Jaskier could do to not whimper in agony._

Everyone quietly, slowly moved away from Jaskier. Triss removed her arms from around his frame, and stood up from the bed. Eskel removed the hand that was holding Jaskier's own, and stood up as well. The six visitors stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the forlorn prince - six people who would do anything for him, and six he would do anything for - and Jaskier sat there, eyes downcast, unable to look up at them.

"I hope you remember that we love you, Jaskier", said a resigned Yennefer, and the prince winced from the pain and heaviness of sorrow and loss that weighed down those words, "We love you and we are here for you. All of us. Always."

"You are not alone, Jaskier, and you do not have to do this alone", Eskel added.

"You are among friends here, Jaskier. But from the moment you leave this palace with Alvin, you will be surrounded by enemies", said Lambert, speaking for the first time, in his typical pragmatic manner.

"I would do anything for you, Jasky", Geralt's voice came out in a strangled, broken sob, "Anything at all."

And that, finally, made Jaskier look up.

"And you don't think I would do the same for you, Geralt?", he said ruefully, before he could help himself.

Geralt's eyes widened.

"Now out! OUT! ALL OF YOU. It's very late, and I need to sleep. Out, or you will be guilty of disobeying a direct order from your prince. OUT!"

*******************************************************************************************

It was a good decision that Jaskier had chosen to stay indoors almost the entirety of the next day.

He could not face it again. Could not face one of his beloved, precious friends. Could not deal with treating them with painstakingly conjured frosty indifference, bordering on acrimony - a pretense that sawed through his heart and left him bleeding and hollow.

Above all, he could not face Geralt. Could not bear to see that dear, dear face crumple again and again in pain and heartbreak.

He resolutely stayed in his chambers and ordered the servants to bring him breakfast and lunch. He stayed curled up in a ball on his bed, weeping until his body ran out of tears, feeling completely drained. He did not know how much more of this trauma he could take. Did not know how much longer he could live this nightmare. Death would be a welcome escape ... if only he weren't carrying a darling little baby girl inside of him...

_Geralt's baby girl ... Geralt's baby daughter ..._

A knock sounded on the door. It had not been locked from the inside. Jaskier tiredly raised his head and called out a feeble "Come in".

King Stephen and Queen Parveen walked in.

"Hello, sweetheart", the king sounded exhausted as he sat down on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Jaskier's belly, "How are you feeling?"

Jaskier wanted to hide his face in his Baba's lap and cry. Cry until he was no more. Cry until he drowned in his own tears.

"Still alive, Baba". He couldn't bring himself to lie. After all - these two were his parents. There was probably no masquerade that Jaskier could put up that they won't see right through. And he certainly hadn't bothered to wipe off his tear-tracks and mask the sagging bags of dark circles that lined his eyes. Heck, he hadn't even tried to sit up.

"Baby", the queen spoke, "We don't know why you are doing this. All we know is that, our Jaskier would never speak to our Geralt in that manner. _Never_. And we understand that you are too terrified to reveal the real reason behind all this, my love. But worry not - we will be communicating with King Alfred of Lyria tomorrow onward. From what little Yen has learned from her spies - bless that girl's good judgement - the king isn't particularly close to his son, and they often do not see eye to eye when it comes to matters of the state. We believe Alvin is doing this as part of some elaborate scheme to gain political leverage, and we hope Alfred will not be siding with his son in that."

"And our emissaries have already begun their journey to Lyria. They have set out early to make up for the time Alvin will gain by having his mages portal you all to Lyria once his entourage has gone a sufficient distance away from Vengerberg. And there are war-hardy soldiers with their fealty sworn to Vengerberg whom we have disguised to go as part of the group. They will protect you with their lives, son."

They chatted some more - both parents keeping up exemplary, unwavering faces of courage and optimism, veering the conversation away from the imminent departure of their darling son into more pleasant topics. And Jaskier was left to wonder if he would ever be able to make such a good, supportive parent to his little girl.

When they took their leave of him, the queen mother surreptitiously pressed a small piece of paper into Jaskier's palm while holding his hand, and left without a word.

Jaskier did not dare open the paper and lay it flat on the bed to read, because he knew Fringilla would then know of its contents. Instead, he barely opened his palm and peeked inside, trying to be as unobtrusive in his movements as possible.

A single line was written there in a lovely cursive hand. 

_If you love me, come stand where we first met. If not, ignore this message._

**********************************************************************************************

Geralt wasn't sure if he should wait any longer. He had waited for nearly an hour and a half on the terrace. Perhaps it was all in vain. Perhaps the words that had fallen out of the prince's lips last night were indeed true. It had all been a good way to pass the time, and nothing more. 

And yet, here he was.

He was just about to rise to his feet and leave, when Jaskier walked out onto the terrace-garden.

"Your Highness", Geralt dipped his head in a formal bow, even as his heart screamed out to Jaskier - _Beloved, please, come to my arms! Please!_

"Sentinel", the reply was terse, but the Witcher did not miss the tear-tracks nor the wetly shining eyes.

Jaskier casually strolled away, his face angled away from Geralt, his hands on his belly and his eyes apparently appraising the new flowers in bloom in the garden.

"Will you miss your gardens, my prince?"

Said prince turned around to face the Wolf.

"When you leave tomorrow ... will you miss your gardens? Your flowers?", Geralt repeated, expression innocent.

"Ye-yes."

"Might I ask which flowers you will miss the most, my prince? If you do not mind me asking?"

Jaskier was looking away from Geralt, but there was no way the Wolf could have missed how his breaths became rapid, shallow, and a bit frantic.

"Magnolia and cherry blossoms."

And for the first time in the last few days, Geralt's lips quirked up in the briefest, faintest of smiles.

"Hmm. Well, my favourite flowers are chamomiles and dandelions. Love their fragrances."

Jaskier shivered, and Geralt took a step closer.

"Tell me, Your Highness, if you deign to, of course - now that you are about to get married, about to become the prince of a second kingdom - are you excited?"

Jaskier said nothing, and his head bent forward, eyes seeing nothing but a spot on the stone floor.

"It must be an awful lot of responsibilities, no? Managing not one but two kingdoms - of course, with the help of your beloved Prince Alvin - and on top of that, giving birth to your daughter, nursing her, bringing her up? Are you a little scared, my prince?"

Geralt now stood almost shoulder to shoulder with Jaskier, and Jaskier's frame tilted a fraction as if he was slowly careening forward, still not a word leaving his lips.

"Do you think Alvin will make a good father, Your Highness? Do you think he will dote on your daughter? I mean, yes, of course, he is the biological father, after all - but he wasn't quite around to see you through your pregnancy, as far as I know, was he?"

He inched closer to Jaskier, who sagged forward some more, his breaths now sounding ponderous.

"Oh, and I just can't stop wondering - of course, very impertinent and indecorous of me, I know - but what can I say - I am a simple, uncouth, rustic Witcher, after all, not some privileged and refined and powerful prince - do you think he will want to claim you even before you give birth? I mean, he seemed _so eager_ last night, right? Kissed you in full view of the room, and you kissed him back ... tell me, would he not want to fuck you and mark you as his even though you are nearly nine months pregnant?"

The Wolf's lips were now close to the prince's ears, and he all but whispered.

"Tell me, my prince - do you think Prince Alvin will be loving and tender and gentle when he fucks you? Do you think he will scoop you and your baby bump up into his arms and hold you two protectively in his embrace, instead of pounding into you? Do you think he will kiss you and make sure you are ready, or would he right away plunge himself all the way into you, your vulnerability and your pregnant body's needs be damned?"

Jaskier was panting now. Panting like a hunted deer, his hands on his belly, his eyes closed, his lips parted.

"But then again, perhaps it is all worth it, when the end-goal is to be the esteemed consort to a future king who gets to be the sovereign of not one, but _two_ extremely powerful kingdoms of the Continent. I mean, it's _so much_ brighter a future, isn't it, compared to marrying a poor, penniless, worthless Witcher and have a family with him? I mean, what sensible royal spawn would do that, hmm?"

Jaskier whimpered.

And would have fallen face forward had Geralt's arms not shot out and caught him.

And as Geralt steadied his Beloved, and stared into the cornflower-blue eyes that now looked like two pools of glacial meltwater, he wiped away those tears, and spoke in a voice much softer than the razor-sharp one he had been using a few seconds earlier.

"There's still time, Jaskier. Listen to your heart, Beloved."

"Ahem."

The prince and the Witcher whirled around, startled.

"Your Highness! I have been looking for you - would you please come with me?", Fringilla put on her sweetest smile as she regarded the two people in front of her.

****************************************************************************************

When Yen entered Jaskier's room late that night, the prince bolted upright on his bed, his frazzled yet sleep-deprived, distraught mind instantly warning him of Fringilla's return. Memories of the open threat the dark sorceress had issued him earlier that afternoon filled his mind, suffocating him. 

_"You are stepping out of line a bit too often here, Your Highness. Do not tempt fate."_

_"I never told anyone anything, Fringilla! Please, believe me!", Jaskier's voice had broken as he entreated piteously to the looming sorceress._

_"No, you did not, but your act is becoming less convincing by the minute, Prince Julian, and your Wolf already suspects that you are being coerced into this course of action." ___

_"I am sorry, Fringilla - it won't happen again. I promise. I won't go anywhere near him, I prom-... no! Please! Fringilla, please! PLEEEEEASE!"_

_The sorceress had conjured a medium sized ball of spinning, glowing blue light, and in its midst, rippling into focus, appeared Geralt ..._

_... still in the terrace-garden, doubled over in a bout of cough ..._

_... flecks of blood and sputum dotted his lips and chin ..._

_"Fringilla, please! Please, I beg you! Please ...", Jaskier had dropped to his knees, his arms cradling his belly, and he had groveled at the mage's feet, his face soaked in fresh tears, his body shaking with fresh torrents of hacking sobs, "I beg you ... let him go ... please, I'll do anything ... let him go ... let my Beloved go ... please don't hurt him! Pleeeeeeease!"_

_He was not sure if, in the end, it was his gut-wrenching sobs and fervent imploring that made her relent, or simply the need to keep Geralt alive for further leverage until Jaskier left with the Lyrian entourage._

"Jaskier, what's wrong?", Yen rushed to his side, holding him by the shoulders as Jaskier shook uncontrollably, and sobs threatened to overwhelm him again, "Jask, please! Come back to me, Jask! Come back!"

With monumental effort, the prince managed to calm the tattered shreds of his frenetic mind a fraction, and controlling his way-too-rapid breathing, he looked into the violet eyes of his darling sister. "I'm okay", he managed to wheeze out as he still panted, "I'm alright. Don't worry, Yen. I'm alright."

"Jask, do you wish to talk ..."

"No Yen", he cut her off, the scenes of Geralt being tortured by Fringilla in the last couple of days resurfacing in his mind, "Please don't ask me to. I really can't. If I could, I would. You know your brother, Yen."

She stared deep into his cornflower-blue orbs, that were once again brimming with tears, for several long minutes without uttering a word. Then, sighing heavily, the sorceress nodded. 

"I know, Jask. And you don't know how badly I wish I could share whatever burden it is you are carrying alone in your heart, brother mine."

She knew that words would be of little use here. She had not slept a wink since the night before, trying desperately to unravel whatever subterfuge and ploys involving emotional blackmail Alvin was using on Jaskier. But so far, she had found nothing. And she knew that forcing Jaskier to speak, when they were quite possibly being spied upon, could lead to an unforeseen disaster.

She squeezed her shaking human brother in a warm hug. "Jask, please know that this will _not_ last forever. This ordeal will come to an end, and light and love and laughter will come back into our lives. Please know that you have me by your side _always_ , no matter what. All I ask for is that you do not give in. And we will fight this darkness side by side, and we _will_ win."

Jaskier wordlessly hugged her back fiercely, his face buried in her shoulders.

Before she left, Yen decided to make sure that Jaskier's bags were all properly packed. Jaskier watched her through tired, aching eyes as he lay on the bed - she was hunched over, rummaging through the bags, occasionally shaking her head and throwing more stuff in or prying some out ...

What he did not notice, as his eyelids gradually drifted shut, was how she sneaked a tiny trinket into one of the side pockets of his cloth satchel before quietly stealing out of the room.

*********************************************************************************************

"Sorry", Geralt mumbled, knees drawn to his chest, arms encircling them and tear-streaked faced resting on top of them, "I couldn't sleep. I had to come and see you." 

Yen said nothing as she padded over to where her disconsolate, heartbroken friend sat looking lost, and scooped him up in her arms. 

"He loves you. Never believe otherwise. He is being forced into doing this, and he is ... this is killing him inside, Geralt."

"Then tell me how I should save him, Yen! Tell me how to bring back your brother!", Geralt's tearful eyes looked up beseechingly into Yennefer's, "I cannot take it any more, Yen. He is ... he is drifting so far from me. He is my home, Yen, and he is leaving ... letting go ..." 

Before Yen could think of a way to comfort her sobbing best friend, a strange humming sound filled the air in her study, and the sorceress' eyes snapped to the scarlet amulet, with its fiery amber-gold depths, that sat inside a crystal box on her table. 

"What's that?", Geralt asked, his brow furrowed.

"A rather efficient means of communicating with the mages in my spy network", replied Yen absently as she quickly walked over to the stone that was now glowing a deep, flame-like orange and visibly vibrating, emanating heat. Geralt followed swiftly, bending over to examine the curiously shaped talisman.

A voice wafted out of the amulet - distant yet quite clearly heard by the two friends. "Message for Your Excellency, from Rivia."

"Josephine?"

"Aye, Your Excellency. But this message is not from me. And it will not be spoken out loud."

"What do you mean?"

"Watch for the codes, Your Excellency."

The voice disappeared. But in its stead, the amulet started flickering.

It was odd - the orange radiance started waxing and waning, but it was like a pulse - there was a rhythm to it. Or may be not a rhythm, but some sort of pattern - it's as if there were silent beats being played in the background, and on some beats the stone would flash a brilliant orange, on some it would grow almost dark, and on some, there would only be a dull glimmer. 

Geralt watched, awed, as his best friend - one of the most skilled, most capable, most ingenious mages in the entire Continent - watched the flickers with rapt attention, her eyes moving back and forth dizzyingly fast. When finally the stone grew fully dark and stopped vibrating, she scurried forward to grab a parchment and a quill and sank into her chair, head bent forward, completely absorbed in her work and oblivious to everything else.

When the translation of the encrypted message was done, she immediately folded the parchment as if afraid someone would take a peek, her eyes surveying her study nervously. She knew she would see no corporeal intruder, but she also knew, from what was happening to Jaskier, that the enemy was here, and the enemy had ways of spying on her that she had, as yet, not been able to trace and counter.

"Geralt, don't read this message out loud. And read it as quickly as you can, and try to make sure you keep it concealed from any prying eyes, even if you can't see them. It was sent using codes from my personal encryption algorithm, and no one other than my most trusted subordinates know how to use this algorithm. "

Geralt took the proffered parchment from Yen. He brought it very close to his eyes and, cupping his hands around it to obstruct viewing by any unwanted entity, began to read.

_Know Alvin taking Julian to Lyria. Arriving tomorrow morning after they leave. With Sabrina, Sheala, Rivian army. Allow portal to open directly in palace. Tell no one. Let Julian leave but slow them down. Conspiracy and danger. Do not engage Fringilla, Stregobor, Vilgefortz. --- Tissaia_

"This is a message from ..."

"Shhh", Yen clamped a hand down on Geralt's mouth, "Not a word now. Go rest, Geralt. There's work to do tomorrow."

"But Yen, in that case ..."

"I know what you will say, and for that I ask you to read the sixth sentence of the message again. There's a reason why she wrote that."

Geralt still stood in the middle of her study, his brow puckered, his face contorted in an anxious grimace.

"Geralt", Yen pulled her hulking best friend into a tight hug, and whispered into his ear, "Tomorrow, we fight. We fight to protect our Jaskier. We fight to bring him back. We fight for my little brother and your future husband, Geralt. And for that, I need you to be strong. Go warn Eskel and Lambert as quietly as you can. And I shall warn Triss and Mousesack."


	16. Of goodbyes and comebacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANGST & SUSPENSE & ANGST & SUSPENSE!!! Lol :-D I hope you guys enjoy reading this chapter, and I hope your hearts thoroughly break for not just Jaskier (who, of course, is in a terribly, terribly vulnerable situation and I swear I cried for being this cruel an author) but also Geralt. To find out how, read on :-D AND PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW ! 
> 
> The next chapter will be -- well, just to give you a taste of it -- heroics and (recovery from) heartbreak LOL, and also something else that I am absolutely itching to write about (which involves a ton of angst and pain, but in a good way ;-) ). So, um, please please please keep reading? :-D

Vesemir knew it would not be prudent to ride straight into the palace. 

He had ridden like the wind from Kaer Morhen. He had left the confines of the mountain stronghold the moment he had realized that the recurring and rather vague nightmares that he had had for one week straight, perturbing his rest every single night and making him more and more agitated and fretful by the day, were actually frantic calls for help being delivered to him straight from Geralt's medallion, which in turn bore a very intimate connection with Geralt's body and his subconscious.

The medallions of the Witchers were usually devices to make them aware of the presence of monsters. But when its owner was in some manner of grave peril that he himself was not aware of, the medallion would try to reach out to a senior Witcher for help. However, the medallion itself had no language of its own, and therefore could only project its intuition or its apprehension towards the impending danger onto the recipient's dreams, and the farther the recipient was located from the Witcher whose life was endangered, the murkier the message became, with little scope for deducing the nature of the lurking menace.

Vesemir had always been rather close to Geralt. He loved all his pups, but the white-haired one was always a little too special, a little too dear. He loved Eskel and Lambert fiercely, but it was always Geralt for whom his heart worried the most. And Geralt, too, was rather deeply attached to his Da. He would never once complain as Vesemir, ever the one to serve tough love on a plate to his pups, made Geralt do extra laps around the keep's inner walls, made him train far harder than the others, pushed him to within an inch of dropping unconscious from exhaustion in the training yard. And at the same time, it was Geralt that Vesemir would visit at night before retiring to his chambers, bringing a hot water bottle wrapped securely in layers of soft cloth to press to his aching muscles, and a glass of hot milk mixed with turmeric and cinnamon and honey to help with the exhaustion. It was Geralt whose sneaking an extra cookie from a batch freshly baked by his Da for snacking on during winter evenings that Vesemir would conveniently fail to notice. It was Geralt who would stay up the whole night tending to his Da when Vesemir was feeling under the weather after being stung by some venomous monster during one of his hunts - keeping his fever down by draping damp washcloths over his forehead and making him sip herbal tea with lots of ginger, fennel, lemon and honey to help with the healing. 

And therefore, it was no wonder that when Geralt was in danger, his medallion had desperately called out to his Da for help.

And right now, standing about a mile away from the palace of Vengerberg and sensing the almost overwhelming pleas for help from Geralt's medallion, the Old Wolf knew that whoever it was who posed a threat to his dearest, most precious pup, was still very much present inside the royal palace. And he also felt, quite keenly, that riding through the front gate of the palace would not only alert this highly inimical entity, it would likely spur him or her to take some action that could severely hurt or even kill Geralt. But he did not have the luxury of waiting either.

No, decided Vesemir - he would go to the palace and go now. But he would enter its premises covertly. And hope that the enemy did not sense his arrival.

************************************************************************************************

Jaskier had managed to pack only two bags for the journey ahead. He had failed to summon the energy to do much more than throw in a scant few of his belongings that he deemed absolutely indispensable. This was a journey into hell, and he would never again return to his own kingdom, to his own family, to his dear friends. He just knew that, deep down. He knew he would probably be able to survive long enough to deliver his baby, and then it would be all over. 

_Because living apart from Geralt was not an option. And his heart was already giving up - it would give up completely once he delivered his little girl safe and sound._

He knew it was selfish - that he ought to at least try for the sake of his daughter - his and Geralt's darling little baby. But he knew he wouldn't make it. He just couldn't.

Outside, dawn was barely beginning to break. The pearly sky had yet to turn rosy in the far east. A cool, soothing breeze blew, reminding Jaskier of the countless times he and Geralt had walked out onto the terrace this early in the morning just to be able to enjoy this breeze, with Geralt making sure to swathe Jaskier in a thick wool shawl and keeping him pressed to his chest with his brawny arms around his pregnant human. 

_So many memories, Beloved! There's not a thing left anymore that does not remind me of you ..._

_Every moment that I am alive, every little thing that I see or hear or smell or feel - they have become windows opening onto scenes from a life I am now leaving behind, never to return ..._

_... a life in which I had you, in which you stood next to me with your arms around me, and a life I am being forced to let go ..._

Jaskier inhaled deeply, hoping he would succeed in not breaking down in sobs. Because throughout the night, he had woken up intermittently and done just that - sobs had rendered his eyes bloodshot, his throat was chafed raw, his temples were throbbing in an increasingly severe pain, and his lungs were having a hard time drawing breaths. If he was to make his way down to the courtyard in front of the palace, he needed to not sob anymore, or he would just collapse and never be able to rise again.

He knew he ought not to try to walk down the staircase shouldering two satchels when he was nine months pregnant and barely able to walk without wobbling under the weight of his belly, but he did not wish to bother anyone else. Especially not one of his beloved family and friends. And if he was being totally honest to himself, he almost considered this exercise a penance - a penance for breaking his White Wolf's heart, his Yen's heart, his parents' hearts, and the hearts of so many dear friends.

Hoisting the bags and trying not to stumble, the prince slowly waddled out of his chambers. In the deserted corridor, he paused for a while, looking around for one last time.

_One last time - the palace he had grown up in, the hallways he had played in as a little boy, the suites of his parents he had studied and slept in, the library he had frequented, the terrace-gardens where he had tended to his flower plants ..._

_... never to return ..._

_... but at least, Geralt would be here - at least he would live on, and hopefully stay on as the Sentinel of Vengerberg, and all these places fondly cherished by the prince would perhaps continue to be visited by the Wolf, continue to hear his footfalls ..._

With a pained sigh, the prince began to walk towards the staircase.

_And before he had gone more than a few paces, he felt the leather straps of his satchels sliding of his shoulders as someone deftly took the two bags from him, and the startled prince turned around to see who it was ..._

_... to have himself looking into a pair of amber eyes, the irises flecked with gold as they reflected the first rays of the morning sun._

"Good morning, love", Geralt said, his voice incredibly soft and hushed, his eyes even softer, as if Jaskier was someone way too fragile and precious, slipping away through the Witcher's fingers, "Please, allow me."

Jaskier's lips began to tremble, no matter how hard he tried to suppress them.

Without another word, the Wolf clasped his human's hand in his, and slowly, the two lovers began walking down the stairs, Geralt's other hand a moment's notice away from shooting out and catching Jaskier should he totter. 

_One last time, let me feel the warmth of your dear, calloused hand enveloping mine ..._

_One last time, let me relish the feeling of you walking next to me, so close I can reach up and touch the wisps of stray gossamer-white hair escaping your pony-tail ..._

_One last time, let me thrive in the knowledge that if I turn my head, I shall get to see your gold eyes - the most beautiful, most wondrous, most mesmerizing eyes that I have ever seen and shall ever see in this life ..._

_One last time, before Destiny sweeps me away on her cruel tide, far, far, far from you, casting me into a darkness from which there will be no escape, no return ..._

Automatically, Jaskier's fingers curled around Geralt's hand and tightened their grip. If only he did not have to let go ... if only he could hold on ...

"I shall forever hold on", whispered Geralt, and Jaskier looked at him with eyes wide with pain and longing, wondering if the Wolf had read his mind.

When they reached the courtyard, the Lyrians were already mounted on their horses, the animals nickering impatiently and appearing as fractious as their owners. They were eager to be off.

Jaskier was supposed to ride a palanquin, because riding a horse or even traveling in a horse-drawn carriage on bumpy country roads in this state was out of the question. The palanquin was to be borne by eight bearers - much to Alvin's displeasure, each of these hardy men was of Vengerbergese birth and answered to King Stephen and Queen Parveen. The Lyrians had not brought anyone with them who would be willing to act as a bearer to a pregnant prince's litter.

Jaskier ignored the Lyrians as he slowly approached the people who stood to one side of the courtyard in a tight knot, waiting for him.

Lambert surprised the prince by being the first one to step up and pulling him into a hug.

"Take care of yourself and my niece. Leave the rest to us", the grumpy Witcher muttered, brief as usual.

_"My niece" ..._

_Oh, Melitele! Is there no way this life could be mine again? Why must you force me to let it go? What have I done to deserve so much pain, Melitele?_

Triss planted a tearful kiss on his cheek, then cradled his belly lovingly. "Don't you give up hope", she said, wiping away his tears and then her own, "Don't you let go of that dazzling smile of yours."

Eskel embraced him warmly. Then, cupping his cheeks and making the now quietly weeping prince look into his gold eyes, the Witcher whispered, "Jask, this is **not** a farewell. You hear me? **This is not a farewell.**."

The king and the queen couldn't really suppress their sobs when they had to bid their darling son goodbye. Jaskier wished he could comfort his disconsolate, distraught parents, but he knew nothing could ever ease the pain and helplessness they felt - would forever feel until the day they were no more. They were about to lose the human that meant the world to them. 

"I will bring you back", the king said with his jaws clenched, even as tears glistened on his cheeks and drenched his shirt, "I **will**."

"Baba", Jaskier gripped his father's shoulder tightly, "Look at me. Look at me, please. You won't go to war, Baba. I swear, your son will die if you do that ... don't you dare put your life on the line for me, Baba. If something happened to you, or Ma, I swear ... I swear ..."

He couldn't continue. 

His queen mother quietly pressed a small but vibrantly coloured woolen doll into his hand, and Jaskier knew she had crocheted it herself.

"For my granddaughter. Give her our love, baby."

It was all Yen could do to not launch herself at her baby brother. 

"Promise me you will look after yourself. _Promise me!_ ", she almost yelled in her urgency to impress the words upon him, "That's a direct command from your older sister."

Jaskier smiled forlornly at her. "You know I shall always obey you, big sis. I always have. Will you please look after our parents for me, Yen? I am going to be worried sick for them."

"Jask, I will see you very soon. I **will**. So don't you dare talk like you are leaving this home forever."

"Yen, I really cannot take it if I keep my hopes up and then they are dashed to pieces. Please. Let me go, sister. Let me leave with the knowledge that this is the last time my eyes will get to bask in your beauty, sister dearest."

" **Never. I shall never let go, Jask.** And you are coming back to us very, very soon. Just you wait and watch."

When it was finally time to walk towards the palanquin, Jaskier's benumbed mind somehow was able to register how Geralt fell in step beside him, still carrying his bags. 

"Geralt ..."

"Jasky?"

"Look at me, please."

The Wolf paused in his tracks, turning to face Jaskier.

_Oh! How vulnerable, how frail, how broken my White Wolf looks ..._

_Melitele, watch over him ... keep him safe ... may he live a long and happy life ... may he know peace and love and may he always remember what a precious, dear heart he is ..._

Jaskier swallowed, then reached out to take Geralt's hands in his.

"Find someone. Someone better."

Geralt said nothing, except that his expression became even more pained. He stared into Jaskier's cornflower-blue orbs like a man gazing wistfully at a lake of crystal-clear, turquoise-blue water one last time before he turned his back forever to it and entered a desolate life amidst the scorching sands of a desert. 

Leaning forward, the White Wolf pressed a kiss to the prince's forehead, while his hands came up to grasp Jaskier's shaking shoulders.

"Look after her, will you? Tell her that her Da misses her very much. Every single day."

"Geralt ...", Jaskier nearly went limp in his Beloved's arms as fresh sobs threatened to smother him.

"Your Highness!", Fringilla's voice rang out like the cracking of a whip - sharp and resounding throughout the courtyard - "It is time."

Geralt turned his head to fix Fringilla with a death stare. Then, without warning, he picked up the pregnant prince in his arms, bridal style.

"Geralt!", Jaskier said in a strained, anxious voice, his heart hammering with the fear of what Fringilla might do in retaliation to this open show of affection.

But the Wolf ignored everyone. In just a few long strides, he reached the palanquin, and, more gingerly than anyone else would have been capable of, laid his lover down upon the soft cushions that covered the entire wood floor of the litter. He adjusted the cushions and fluffed them up, trying his best to make his human as comfortable as possible for the journey ahead.

"Lie back. Try to get some sleep", he whispered, as he placed a palm on the weeping, utterly drained prince's forehead. "Don't exert yourself. I have packed some dainties for you to munch on - dried mangoes and persimmons, sheep's-milk cheese cubes and some honey cakes - and there's also a freshly filled waterskin in here", he finished, placing a basket next to the recumbent prince. 

_And still he takes care of me. Still he loves me so. Even after the way I have splintered his heart into a million little shards._

"Geralt", Jaskier clasped the Wolf's hand feebly, one last time, "If I ... if I live to hold her in my arms, what should I call her? What do you want me to call your baby girl, Beloved?"

The Witcher looked down at the prince, his face crumpling. "You **will** live. And you **will** hold her in your arms and nurse her. And ...", he blinked hard, but the tears fell anyway, making Jaskier ache for his heartbroken Wolf, "And I **will** hold you - **both** of you - in my arms. As for the name ... call her Cirilla, Jasky. That's the name I have been planning to call her by."

"Cirilla ... Ciri, for short", Jaskier mused, a sliver of a true smile appearing on his face for the first time after what seemed like an eon, "I will call her Ciri. They won't let it be the official name, of course, but no matter. She will be Ciri for me - your Cirilla."

***************************************************************************************

Yennefer had simply refused to allow the Lyrian prince and his retinue to create a portal anywhere within the borders of Vengerberg for transporting them directly to Lyria.

"You may have our prince in your clutches, but our laws you _will not_ twist or disobey", she had said in a tone far more authoritarian than any her Baba could have mustered, staring Alvin down until the prince had cowered and looked away, "It is our law that any group of foreign dignitaries, including the prince of another kingdom, has to ride the entire way up to the banks of the Yavina before they are allowed to create a magical portal to somewhere else."

"Ludicrous!", Vilgefortz had scoffed, "Come now, Yennefer, you really do not think it would make much of a difference to your darling princeling in the end, do you? Besides, I was under the impression that dignitaries and emissaries were allowed to teleport right after they exited the inner ramparts of Vengerberg. Am I right?"

"Losing your touch, are you, Vilgefortz? Or else why are you not aware of the latest rules and regulations of the kingdoms you Lyrians maintain diplomatic ties with? You _will_ conform to this rule, Vilgefortz, or you will risk war with Vengerberg. And just to make sure you do not resort to your usual duplicitous ways, you will be escorted to the banks of the Yavina by _our_ forces. Refuse, and you will have the entire garrison of Vengerberg descend upon you."

And so it was that not only were the Lyrians now completely surrounded by a Vengerbergese escort of twenty fully armed soldiers, but also by Mousesack and his team of druids. King Stephen had wanted to provide a far stronger battalion of soldiers, but had had to relent as this could be challenged by Alvin as Vengerberg's implicit instigation of military action against Lyria. All three Witchers had wanted to go, but on top of Jaskier breaking down in sobs and entreating piteously to Yen to not let them come, fearing harm to his Beloved and his brothers, Yen herself had felt a strong yet inexplicable urge to keep Geralt in the palace - as if he would be needed _there_ , for some reason.

*****************************************************************************************

Jaskier held on to Geralt's hand until the very last moment.

Eskel and Yen had to physically restrain Geralt from following the procession on foot. And as the prince's hand slipped away from Geralt's, his fingers trying desperately to keep themselves intertwined with Geralt's own but failing, his pinky brushing against Geralt's palm one last time, the Wolf dropped to his knees, unable to help the anguished whimper escaping his lips, his body instantly careening forward in an onslaught of sobs.

And as she knelt down to hug her best friend fiercely, Yen knew, although the drapes overhanging the opening of the palanquin screened him from their view, that her brother wasn't fairing much better. And her heart twisted at the realization that while Geralt had his friends to comfort him, to haul him back to his feet, Jaskier had no one.

_Jaskier was fighting this all alone, all by himself, while carrying a baby in his womb._

_Jaskier had no one to watch out for him, hold him close and soothe him, in this moment of parting - as he lay crying helplessly inside his palanquin, torn from his Beloved's side, severed from his family and friends. As he lay cradling his belly, perhaps experiencing painful cramps on top of feeling completely devastated, completely ruined and broken._

_And Yennefer felt her heart swell with sudden, fierce pride for her little brother - Jaskier might not wield swords like Witchers nor magic like sorcerers, but he was a fighter no less brave, no less valiant and steadfast than any of them._

As the two of them were helping a distraught, shattered Geralt to his feet, Eskel taking most of his brother's weight, they heard the clip-clop of hooves on the cobbled floor of the courtyard, and at the same time three riders came into view, evidently coming from the direction of the postern gate that was set in the fortifications _behind_ the palace.

Two of the riders were palace guards, as could be easily deduced from their uniforms, but the one in the middle, riding a mighty stallion, was mantled in a dark brown wool cloak from head to toe, and his or her face was shrouded by a cowl.

The stranger spurred his stallion onward in a brisk canter, coming to a stop right in front of the king, then hopped down fluidly. 

Nobody was allowed to approach the royals _that_ closely without revealing their face and their identity. Then how had the two guards accompanying this intruder allowed such a thing to happen, when they knew full well this individual could potentially be an assassin?

All three friends instantly became alert, and nearly hurtled back towards King Stephen and Queen Parveen, praying that this wasn't some new predicament that they had to deal with while fighting to get their prince back from the enemy's grasp.

The newcomer threw back his hood and dipped his head in a bow towards the king and the queen, and before the stunned King Stephen could utter a single word ...

_... Geralt of Rivia slammed into the rider's chest!_

"Da!", the call came out as a strangled sob instead of a joyous cry, and the White Wolf all but sagged, burying his face in his Da's chest, Vesemir having to put his arms around his pup to prevent him from falling to his knees again.

"I've got you, son, I've got you.", the Old Wolf rocked Geralt back and forth, mussing up his hair lovingly.

"Da, how ... ?", Eskel began, even as he and Lambert stepped forward to be caught up in a group-hug by Vesemir.

"Yenna's message, informing me about Geralt's wish to be handfasted to Julian, but much more importantly, Geralt's medallion", answered the Old Wolf briefly, before pulling Yennefer into a one-armed embrace.

Geralt looked up from where his tear-streaked face had been hidden in the folds of Vesemir's cloak, a frown creasing his brow. "My medallion, Da?"

Vesemir nodded, before briefly hugging King Stephen and Queen Parveen - both old friends of his. Then he turned to Geralt with a grim face, and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"You are in danger, son. Now that I stand this close to you, your medallion is letting me know there is some sort of toxin - something dark and deleterious - inside of you. It somehow sneaked into you without your knowledge, but the medallion is able to sense its presence, and it called out to me for help. I rode here as fast as I could."

Yennefer turned eyes wide as saucers to meet Geralt's gold-amber ones. 

"This is what they used to coerce Jaskier!"

"What?!", exclaimed Vesemir, who had no idea about the recent goings-on, nor indeed any inkling about the involvement of the prince of Lyria in this scheme, "Is your son okay, Stephen?"

But before anyone could answer him, the mages and the Witchers all felt the beginnings of a barely perceptible vibration in the air around them - like a ripple - that they instantly knew to be the effect of some magical spell being cast. And a couple of seconds later, all the people gathered in the courtyard, including the humans, gasped as a blinding flash of iridescent blue light lit up every single window, door and balcony of the palace, causing the glass panes and shutters to rattle dangerously.

"Quick! Inside! It's the Rivians - they are opening up a portal inside the palace!", Yen yelled before dashing back inside the mansion.

**************************************************************************************

Tissaia de Vries was the first to step out through the spinning gateway of the luminescent blue portal, followed by Sheala de Tancarville, Sabrina Glevissig and about two dozen armed Rivian soldiers.

Yennefer wordlessly let herself be pulled into a hug by her former mentor, before embracing her friend Sabrina. Sheala, however, spared no one else the barest glance, her eyes immediately alighting upon Geralt and her face immediately darkening in grave concern.

"Baba, Ma, this is my mentor, Tissaia de ..."

"Save the idle chitchat, girl!", Sheala's voice rang out above the din and clatter caused by the incoming soldiers and the hushed mutterings of the onlookers, immediately cutting off Yennefer's introduction, "This child needs help. Right now!"

She strode towards Geralt, who stood looking totally nonplussed and peering at her through eyes that were still bloodshot and tearful. Without allowing him a moment's notice and without asking for his permission, she touched his temples with her forefingers and middle fingers and closed her eyes, the scowl deepening on her face.

"It's inside him - the same venom, spawned of dark sorcery, that had tainted Princess Lara's blood", she spoke after a moment, turning around to look at Tissaia, "And he does not have much time. I am assuming this is Vilgefortz's doing, or one of his two associates', and they crafted the spell so that the venom would automatically activate and begin its work once they left the palace premises."

As if on cue, a wet cough tore through Geralt's chest, and blood squirted from his mouth.

"GERALT!", Vesemir and Yen cried in unison, and Eskel and Lambert rushed to his side, even as Geralt began to sway on his feet, suddenly looking very ill.

"Sheala, we need to start the deactivation process NOW!", Sabrina urged, sounding frantic as she watched, horrified, her old friend's face take on a deathly pallor and more blood spout from his mouth.

"Yen, Triss, Vesemir - stay. Eskel, Lambert - lay Geralt down on the cot here. HURRY! Everyone else - OUT! OUT, NOW!", barked Tissaia.

The instructions were obeyed quicker than a heartbeat.

"Form a ring around the cot, all of you", commanded Sheala, her eyes burning in determination and anger, "We will need to link our magical powers together - singly we cannot defeat this extremely potent and pernicious dark spell. I have researched this spell enough to know how to detect it, but you all cannot sense it yet. You will follow my lead, repeat after me the healing incantations I chant in Elder, and you will channel the magical energy you summon into this child's body. You two", she gestured to Eskel and Lambert, "Hold him down because he will be in a lot of pain. Yennefer, Merigold, stop sobbing like little girls - you won't lose your friend. Vesemir, man up!"

Geralt's face was now contorted in excruciating agony, and every muscle in his body stood taut and painfully rigid. His jaws were clenched, his eyes were squeezed shut, his whole body was glistening with perspiration, and his breaths sounded laboured. Blood still dribbled slowly down his chin.

In a few minutes, the writhing, whimpering, anguished White Wolf was engulfed in a shimmering dome of soft white light, while the people surrounding him stood with their heads bowed and their eyes closed, murmuring a litany of incantations. Gradually, the light began to wax, and Geralt began to toss and turn more and more frantically, as if it scalded him, his clenched jaws no longer able to keep the moans and pleas in.

"Please, make it stop! Please! Da, please!", he let out a tortured wail, his body now beginning to shake uncontrollably, tears streaming down from his eyes.

"Son? Geralt ..."

"VESEMIR, FOCUS!", yelled Sheala, "DON'T BREAK THE WEAVE, OR YOUR PUP DIES!"

The white light was now almost blinding, and Geralt's writhing form was barely visible through it.

"Please! Jasky, baby, help me! Yen, make it stop, please! It's burning me ... Da! Esk! Someone, please ... I beg you ... please ... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

The light waxed to an unbearable effulgence, and a vicious scream tore from Geralt's lips, reverberating through the room. 

And then the dome of light disappeared, momentarily dousing the spell-casters in gloom and partial blindness, and Geralt's body, that had arched off the bed in unendurable pain, now collapsed back on the mattress.

"Geralt! Sweetheart!", Yen threw herself next to her best friend, her hands pushing strands of damp hair behind his ears and cupping his clammy, sweat-soaked, tear-streaked face in her delicate hands, "Talk to me, love! Please, Geralt!"

The White Wolf was panting like a wounded animal, but his skin was no longer feverish to the touch, and colour was trickling back into his once-pallid face. Shakily, with eyes still closed, he reached up to grasp Yennefer's wrists in his own, and drew a deep, steadying breath. He was still crying quietly as his brain tried to banish the last vestiges of the most intense, savage pain he had ever experienced since the Trials of the Grasses.

"I'm alright. I'm okay", he whispered hoarsely, trying to reassure both himself and her.

"It's done. The venom has been expelled from your system, child. It can't hurt you anymore", Sheala said, her voice, despite being stern and brusque, betraying both her relief and weariness, "Now, Tissaia, didn't you say there is a pregnant prince to rescue?"

And that had the gold-amber eyes flying open and Geralt bolting upright on the bed, all traces of his own physical distress replaced by crippling fear for his Beloved's safety.

"Have they been gone too long, Yen? Do you think they have already teleported? Do you th-..."

"Shhhh, breathe, Geralt!", Yennefer rubbed soothing circles on his back to calm him down from his sudden burst of frenetic energy, "I sneaked a tracking device into Jask's satchel. It's linked to my consciousness, and I can still feel its location - they haven't made it very far. I am making a portal right away. Tissaia, will you please summon your soldiers? We don't have time to gather ours."

************************************************************************************************

Jaskier had wept himself into a fatigued stupor. One of his hands still clutched the little wood-carved horse with a long-haired, armoured rider on its back, and tears still dripped down his chin. The other hand was splayed over his abdomen.

Abruptly, the palanquin jerked to a halt, and Jaskier came awake, startled.

At first, his pain-numbed, aching brain was too fogged to register anything. But then, he realized that the entire regiment had come to a stop, and that horses stood stamping their hooves. There was a general scurry of activity all around him, as people (he had not yet found the strength to draw aside the screens of his palanquin and peek outside to see if they were Vengerbergese or Lyrian or both) seemed to be moving around busily. Were they already at the docks of the Yavina? 

Then, he heard Fringilla's voice - not too raised, but enough for him to discern the words as she seemed to be standing pretty close: "Sire, the spell has been deactivated."

"What?!", Alvin and Vilgefortz exclaimed together, before Alvin continued, "He is supposed to be dead by now, Fring. Whatever do you mean?"

"Exactly what I just said, sire. He is quite alive - I can sense it - thanks to someone deactivating the spell and removing the venom from his system in time."

"Fuck! That white-haired bastard!", Alvin snarled, and Jaskier's heart lurched.

_Geralt was no longer in peril! His life was no longer endangered!_

The prince nearly threw back his head and laughed. But instead, he started sobbing - so relieved was he at this piece of news that his tired, strung-up, utterly frayed nervous system could not take it anymore. He sobbed so hard he was afraid he might drown in his tears.

And then, he heard it.

A faint crackling sound, starting somewhere behind him and gradually increasing in amplitude, resembling the noise of a cloth being ripped apart.

And it was immediately followed by a panicked roar from Vilgefortz.

"They are here! Stregobor, stun those Vengerbergese soldiers! Fringilla, hold back those fucking druids! Everyone else, to me!"

Jaskier was deafened by the clangor of swords being drawn and shields being hefted, of hooves galloping away or coming closer, of soldiers shouting to each other. He thought he already heard fighting some distance off, and whooshing sounds - as if the wind was being whipped up by some sorcery - and he guessed that that would be Fringilla facing off Mousesack.

And then, above all the clamour and pandemonium, he heard a deep, rumbling voice that made his heart leap into his mouth.

"ALVIN! SHOW YOURSELF, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!"

And it was followed by a resonant battle-cry from Yennefer's voice, taken up at once by Geralt and several others, and Jaskier heard a host of booted feet charging ahead into the skirmish.

But before he could both sigh in relief at the arrival of his Beloved and his friends and simultaneously worry himself to death over their safety, a gauntleted hand reached through the curtains of the palanquin and grabbed the prince's elbow painfully hard, making him wince.

"Come out, Julian! Come out, you fucking weakling!"

Jaskier thought it was only Alvin's resolve to lay his hands on his baby daughter and to have her magical powers at his command, to fulfill his dubious ambitions, that prevented the Lyrian prince from seriously hurting Jaskier.

Alvin dragged Jaskier out of the palanquin, and Jaskier knew better than to struggle, because chances were he would just end up hurting himself, or worse, his baby girl, in the process. The iron gauntlet clamped down on Jaskier's arm, and he knew it would leave finger-shaped bruises on his soft flesh. And as Alvin forced Jaskier to stand, ignoring the prince's grimace as the movement exerted pressure on his belly, Jaskier winced as the hard ridges of his assailant's armour dug into his back and waist.

Alvin now held a curved scimitar to the pregnant prince's throat, its coldly gleaming edge sending shivers down Jaskier's spine, digging into his flesh just barely enough to draw a single bead of bright crimson blood.

"Come get me, Witcher!"


	17. The rescue mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it's battle time :-) This chapter is intentionally short, because you all can probably guess from the cliffhanger that the next one will be deliciously long LOL :-D Anyway, PLEASE READ AND REVIEW, as usual :-D

Yennefer was quickly coming to realize just how powerful and well-equipped the Lyrian mages were, and just how thoroughly prepared they all had been from the very beginning. The Lyrians had come up with a remarkably foolproof tactical plan - she had to acknowledge - with Jaskier and Geralt as the main sacrificial pawns. 

She was currently locked in a deadly combat against Fringilla, alongside Sabrina and Eskel. A little distance off, Triss, Mousesack and Lambert fought Stregobor, and Tissaia, Sheala and Vesemir were teamed up against Vilgefortz. But despite each of the Lyrian mages facing off _three_ rather accomplished opponents, they were hardly slowing down and hardly giving any ground. _How could they be this powerful?_ But Yen did not have to contemplate long, as she soon realized that most of the spells Fringilla was using to fend her and her two friends off were not only unfamiliar to her, but also reeked of a far more ominous kind of magic than she could have expected from her once-peer of Aretuza.

_The same dark sorcery that had spawned the lethal magical venom intended to assassinate Geralt was now fueling each of the Lyrian mages, multiplying their strength and resilience manifold!_

Most of the soldiers, whether Vengerbergese or Lyrian, as well as the bearers of Jaskier's palanquin, lay either slain or paralyzed and completely still on the ground - Stregobor had blasted the human warriors off their feet by hurling forth some destructive spell, and of course, the spell had not bothered to differentiate between allies and enemies. Yen was secretly glad she had been able to dissuade her Baba and Ma from coming to participate in this battle - they would likely have been killed in the explosion. This deadly skirmish was no place for humans - only mutants with exceeding potential for wielding magic, and magic meant to injure, maim and kill, at that. 

_And that reminded her of one more human - not a warrior, not by a long shot - who was still present amidst them._

_Who was rendered even more vulnerable by the fact that he was nine months pregnant._

_And all Yen could do, as her heart nearly stuttered to a stop and her stomach churned in fear, was pray that Jaskier was not among the humans who lay dead or debilitated on the ground._

***********************************************************************************************

Jaskier tried very hard not to breathe, nor to swallow, as the steel pressed to his throat sank a fraction of an inch further into his flesh. And he tried not to sob in both relief and crippling fear as he saw his Beloved standing a few feet away from him.

Both Jaskier's arms were twisted so far behind his back that it was a miracle his shoulders had not gotten dislocated yet. His hands were caught immobile in a vice-like grip by the Lyrian prince, the iron gauntlet bruising and scraping his fingers and knuckles. He tried not to weep from the burning ache in the muscles and bones of his shoulders and wrists, but the tears fell from his eyes anyway.

Jaskier ached to have some sort of support for his belly - the weight there was too much to bear without him having any means of cradling it. And the way he was being forced to stand - it made his heart twist in fear for his little one - if Alvin suddenly let go, Jaskier would stagger and fall, face forward, and the poor prince could not bear to think of what would happen in that case, at such an advanced stage of pregnancy.

"Come get me, Witcher", Alvin sneered, and Jaskier saw Geralt's amber eyes flit to his own for just a heartbeat - concern for the prince's well-being easy to read in them - before the Wolf returned his attention to the enemy threatening his Beloved's life.

"Let him go, Alvin", Geralt snarled, yet his voice was not raised in the slightest, "This is between you and me. Or are you such a coward that you wouldn't hesitate to use a pregnant human as your shield, you scum?"

"Your deplorable, pathetic weakling means nothing to me. Nothing!", Alvin spat, "I need that baby - I need her powers at my disposal. And I will slaughter anyone who comes in my way."

Geralt growled like a feral predator, even as Alvin began taking small steps backward, dragging Jaskier with him.

But at that moment, the attention of all three of them was momentarily drawn to a commotion that arose from a little distance away. 

************************************************************************************

Sheala, who was by far the most powerful and most erudite of the mutants fighting on the Vengerbergese side, was also the only one who had spent a long time researching this particular class of dark sorcery, and she alone knew spells that could effectively counter the ones cast by a wielder of such highly inimical magic. Tissaia and Vesemir attempted to aggressively pummel Vilgefortz's defenses with volleys of offensive spells of their own, hoping to open up some chink that would allow Sheala to surge in and defeat Vilgefortz.

But it was proving to be a long and arduous tussle. The blows that Tissaia and Vesemir showered on Vilgefortz seemed to do him little harm - the mage appeared nigh invincible as he kept leaping forward to strike at them with either his lethal spells or his broadsword, and then skittered away lightning fast, retreating back within an invisible protective shell before Sheala could knock him down. The protective barrier - which appeared to be a dome of air surrounding the Lyrian - stubbornly withstood all of Sheala's efforts to penetrate it.

At one point, Vilgefortz succeeded in momentarily immobilizing Tissaia and slitting the back of her right arm in a long, deep gash that ran all the way down from her shoulder to her wrist, causing her to howl in pain. Her sword clattered to the floor as blood gushed out of the wound, drenching the sorceress' skirts and the ground around her. Sheala charged towards Vilgefortz with an infuriated roar even as Vesemir rushed to Tissaia's aid. But Vilgefortz was safely back inside his protective confines, and he only threw his head back and laughed derisively at the seething Sheala.

That is, until his feet slipped on the very ground that was now slick with the copious amounts of blood squirting every which way from Tissaia's deep, gaping wound, and he fell.

As he landed on the ground, his back and head connecting hard with the stone surface, his feet slid out of the dome of air that had been shielding him from harm. And Sheala lost no time in hauling the fallen sorcerer's torso out of the security of his magical shell and impaling him with her sword through his heart.

"Noooooooo!", a desperate wail tore out of Fringilla's lips as she sensed her partner's life ebb out of his body.

And in that moment of panic and distress, the dark sorceress ended up making the smallest of mistakes, inadvertently opening up the smallest of fissures in her practically unassailable defenses. And Yennefer and Sabrina did not fail to take full advantage of this opportunity.

Together, with a fierce battle-cry, the two sorceresses surged forward uttering incantations for the most aggressive infiltrating spells, shattering Fringilla's defenses. And before the Lyrian could recover and fight back, splotches of blood bloomed on her chest where Yen's, Sabrina's and Eskel's swords stood quivering, plunged to their hilts into her body. The sorceress's lifeless form thudded heavily to the ground.

"Yennefer, Sabrina, go aid Merigold. I am taking Tissaia back to Rivia. She has lost too much blood", Sheala threw the instructions over her shoulder even as a magically summoned portal came spinning into existence. Sheala picked up the now deathly pale and nearly unconscious Tissaia in her arms, stepped through the luminous gateway of the portal and disappeared.

Yen and Sabrina sprinted towards where Triss and Lambert battled the still very much agile and belligerent Stregobor. Mousesack lay in a heap on the ground, and Yen nearly sagged in relief when she bent down to check his pulse and found that he had been knocked unconscious by some dark spell, and though his pulse was sluggish and weak, he would live, provided he received timely help.

"Sabrina, get Mousesack to safety. Take him to Ira, the head healer in our palace."

"But, Yen ..."

"Trust me, I've got this."

She turned to where Stregobor stood dueling Triss and Lambert, a savage fire burning in her violet eyes.

**********************************************************************************************

"Esk, to me!", Vesemir cried even as he set off at a loping sprint towards Geralt. Eskel followed close at his heels. They reached Geralt in just a few seconds. "Your game's up, Alvin", Vesemir spoke in a voice whose quietness belied the anger and the menace he thrummed with, "Let go of my son-in-law."

Alvin was still shuffling backward, one foot after another, and his sword now pressed even deeper into Jaskier's throat. The pregnant prince whimpered, blood trickling down his shirtfront. 

"ALVIN, LET HIM GO!", Geralt roared like a wounded leopard, his eyes blazing, but none of the three Witchers dared to step closer - Jaskier was at the complete mercy of the Lyrian scoundrel. Even the smallest shove from Alvin would make Jaskier topple forward, and Geralt's heart constricted with fear for his Beloved and his unborn child.

"Alvin, two of your mages are dead. The third is on the verge of being crushed. Who will create a portal for you? There's no escape for you, Alvin", Eskel explained, ever his patient self despite the rage that laced his tone.

Alvin's furtive, slit-like eyes flitted from one Witcher to another, and his tongue darted out to wet his parched lips. But he did not pause in his retreat backwards. The three Wolves were advancing upon him, but they dared not move fast, lest he plunge his sword into his victim or push him forward.

"You're right, freak, I cannot outrun you three fuckers. But if _I_ cannot lay my hands on this child's powers, then neither will you mongrels of Vengerberg", Alvin spat.

Lightning fast, he removed the sword from Jaskier's throat, and Geralt sprang forward like a gazelle.

"DON'T YOU DARE, BASTARD!", Alvin yelled.

And Geralt watched, with his limbs almost going numb with dread, as Alvin pulled out a tiny crystal ampoule containing something sparkling white inside, and his enhanced mutant senses immediately recognized it to be some sort of alien spell trapped inside the vial in corporeal form. The ampoule had a tapering end that was covered in a cork made of some unknown material, and it was not hard for Geralt to guess that should the cork be removed, it would reveal a sharp syringe. 

"Know what this is, Witcher?", Alvin sneered, manic glee in his raven-like eyes, "It's the same spell that would have brought your sorry life to an end, you motherfucker. This one does not even need to be activated - it will trigger itself into action once it's inside the victim's body. And now, you're going to watch as I inject this venom into your filthy whore's blood."

"No!", Geralt breathed, his body going rigid and cold with helpless fear, "Please, no!"

Jaskier was weeping now, his tearful eyes beseeching. "Alvin, please! Please don't hurt my baby girl! Please ... let her live, Alvin!", his voice broke, and he struggled in vain, trying to free himself from the monster's clutches.

"Shut up, you wretched pussy!", Alvin wrenched Jaskier's wrists violently, spraining them and fracturing bones. Jaskier screamed in pain and, unable to tolerate the torment any more, crumpled to the ground.

"JASKY!", Geralt wailed in fear and pain, even as Alvin uncorked the vial with his teeth and raised it high, seconds away from plunging the syringe deep into Jaskier's arm.

What the Lyrian prince did not realize was that, with Jaskier on the ground and he himself distracted in his eagerness to end his victim's life, the upper half of his torso was now fully exposed to his enemies. 

A second later, three beams of blinding white light shot out from the palms thrust forward by the three Witchers facing him off, and slammed into the prince's chest. And another second later, Alvin collapsed to the ground behind Jaskier, the ampoule shattering harmlessly as it dropped from his grasp.

And at the same moment, Yen, Triss and Lambert forced their way through the invisible barrier erected by Stregobor's spells, and the Lyrian mage fell to his knees, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. 

"Triss, Lambert, truss this bastard up! He will be our prisoner", Yen yelled over her shoulder even as she sprinted towards Jaskier's prone form on the ground, reaching him mere seconds after Geralt.

"We've got Alvin. We'll chain him up and bring him along. You two take Jask and go", assured Eskel as he and Vesemir roughly grabbed the stunned and immobilized Lyrian prince by his surcoat and dragged him towards where Lambert was busy shackling and gagging Stregobor.

**********************************************************************************************

Jaskier whimpered as Geralt picked him up in his arms, bridal style, impossibly tender in his movements and careful of the prince's bulging midsection. Jaskier's face was soaked in tears, and tears mingled with blood dripping down from the cut in his throat to drench the front of his shirt. He held his wrists at awkward angles to his body, trying his best not to jostle them, and Geralt knew that the bones there were at least dislocated, if not broken.

And that's when the Wolf felt it.

His left arm, that was snaked underneath Jaskier's knees and lower thighs, felt wet. Sopping wet.

"Jasky, baby ...", Geralt lowered Jaskier very gingerly to the ground, his heart twisting in worry. Swiftly but with exceeding gentleness, he tilted his pregnant Beloved's frame slightly to his side, careful to support his belly with a hand, and discovered that Jaskier's trousers were soaked through, but thankfully there was no trace of blood.

"His water broke", came Yen's terrified whisper.

As if on cue, Jaskier moaned, his hands coming to rest on his belly even though his wrists probably hurt like hell. 

"Geralt, baby, mmmmm ... aaaaaaa ... aaaa Geralt! Please! Aaaaa!", Jaskier called out in a feeble voice, "My belly ... hurts ... hurts ... aaaaaaa ... Geraaalt!"

"Uterine contractions! Yen, open a portal! We need to get him back to the palace, now!"


	18. Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, don't ask how much research I had to do on labour and childbirth and birthing positions and stages of labour and bla bla bla for this chapter!!!!! HOLY SHIT! Can't believe I wrote this... the things we do for writing fanfics LOL :D I have tried to be as realistic and honest as possible... I am not sure how much you all will enjoy this. SO PLEASE, LET ME KNOW! I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU ALL THOUGHT OF THIS CHAPTER :D

"In here!", urged Ira, trotting forward briskly to indicate the prince's canopied bed, "Alright, Geralt, first, lay him down on his back, then flip him on to his left side. Be as gentle as you can be."

"Yes Ma'am", Geralt obeyed like a warrior heeding his general's commands, and tenderly set Jaskier down on the bed.

"Yen, Triss, you two are staying. Amys", she called to a nurse, "Go get two short splints and two rolls of crepe bandages. Priya, go boil water - at least three big kettle-fulls. Prepare lots and lots of freshly laundered towels - the softest ones you can find. Ask the apothecary at the infirmary to send up sage and comfrey, and get salt from the pantry. GO!"

Queen Parveen rushed into the room and immediately dropped to her knees by the bedside. Cupping Jaskier's tear-streaked, dirt-smudged face in her palms, she asked "Baby, how are you?", her voice thick with worry and tears, even as Geralt reached out to comfort her by laying a soft hand on her shoulder.

"Belly ... hurts ... Ma ... aaaa ... baby ... my baby ... aaaaa ... aaaaaaaaaa", Jaskier's voice was strained and barely audible as he looked up at his mother imploringly. His eyes watered and his lips wobbled as his body struggled to deal with the rising pain in his abdomen.

"Your Majesty, please!", Ira placed a hand on the queen's shoulder, "Now is not the time. He will be fine, I promise. But we cannot have too many people inside the room. You have to wait outside."

"Ira, I am his mother ...", the queen began, sounding indignant as she glared up at the old healer.

"And I his healer!", Ira retorted, equally angry, "And for my patient's well-being, I am asking you to leave. He needs to focus on himself and his baby, not anything else! We can't have too many distractions in this room!"

The queen slumped. "I know that you know what you are doing, Ira", she sighed, "Please, make sure the two of them are okay?"

"Will do, Your Highness. You have my word."

Queen Parveen placed a loving kiss on her son's forehead, and caressed his tummy gently, which earned her a pained "Oooo" from Jaskier. "Baba is very worried, and you know how fractious he gets when he panics. He and I will be waiting outside, the entire time. If you need us, just ask for us. Okay, honey?". It was hard to tell how much of her words the prince comprehended - his eyes were now hazed with pain as he curled into a partially fetal position, his injured hands pressed to his belly, as more uterine cramps wracked him, and he moaned.

The queen wiped away her own tears. Turning, she scooped up Geralt kneeling next to her in a fierce hug, and kissed the top of his head. "Look after him, will you, sweetheart?". Geralt squeezed her hands in reply and tried to look determined and courageous for his Ma's sake, though he suspected the queen saw right through the facade and realized how nervous and on edge he himself was.

The moment the Queen left the bedchamber, Ira whirled around to face Geralt.

"Go change into the cleanest set of cotton nightclothes you have, and make sure you thoroughly - _thoroughly_ \- wash your hands up to your elbows, wash your face and throat and neck, and tie up all that hair in a topknot - I don't want a single strand of stray hair!", she commanded.

"Now?"

"Yes, right away. You will stay the entire time of the labour, until the birth - she is your baby. And you will need to hold her when she comes out. And you cannot do that in those filthy clothes of yours. Go, now! Come back as soon as you can. Julian will be at this for hours."

"Jasky?", Geralt placed a soft hand on Jaskier's cheek, and the prince's eyes fluttered open, filled with tears, "I have to go change, and clean myself up. So I can hold our little one when she arrives. I'll be back within minutes. Will you be alright, baby?". Jaskier squinted up at his Beloved, trying his best to concentrate on the words through all the mind-numbing pain, and finally nodded. Without another word, the Wolf rose and left the room. And Ira immediately rounded on Yen and Triss.

"Same instructions for you two. And make sure you two don't wear any of your fancy, trailing gowns. Plain cotton or wool clothes - no lacy or frilly embellishments, and nothing should trail on the ground - you might trip on it, or someone else might. Now, go! And be back as soon as possible. GO, NOW!"

Once she was alone, Ira perched herself on the bed next to the moaning, sweating prince and placed a soothing palm on his cold, clammy forehead. "It's going to be okay, darling. Just breathe, and try to follow my guidance. I've got you. I shall undo your trousers now, and also your tunic, alright?". Jaskier nodded faintly with his eyes closed, and the healer quickly unfastened the cords holding together his soiled trousers and smoothly pulled them off, discarding them in a basket behind her. As she was undoing the buttons of his shirt, Amys came back with the splints and the crepe bandages. Before tugging the shirt off his frame, Ira tied up the prince's wrists securely.

"This will prevent you from aggravating your wrists. There are hairline fractures, I believe, in a few of the wrist bones, but those will heal with time, and Yen can help with her spells. But right now, your body must not be subjected to any kind of magic unless absolutely necessary." With that, she tugged off the shirt, leaving the prince naked. 

Despite the pain he was in, Jaskier blushed and tried to cover himself, until he noticed the glare Ira was directing at him, and gave up.

At that precise moment, Geralt entered the room, looking odd in his ankle-length pyjamas and loose nightshirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the rather unusual way the entire mass of his silver-white tresses was gathered up in a thick ponytail high up on the back of his head. He strode towards Jaskier and sat down right next to the prince's head, draping his warm palm on top of Jaskier's forehead, and the prince immediately sighed contentedly at the restoration of physical contact with his Wolf.

"Lots of work to do, Geralt", Ira prattled on busily, while stacking up tons of pillows and cushions against the headboard of the bed, "You will sit here, with your back against the pillows, and your legs stretched out in front of you. Make sure you are comfortable - you won't have much room for maneuvering, especially once the active phase of the labour begins. Jaskier will sit in between your legs, with his back leaning against your chest, and you will hold him securely from behind as he goes into labour. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"We need to sponge him down, because he too is quite dirty and mud-splattered from the journey. Priya's coming up with the water and towels. You and I will do it together."

In a couple of minutes, the nurse and several servants brought up four humongous kettles of steaming hot water, lots of freshly laundered and extremely soft towels and washcloths draped over their arms, and several deep copper bowls sterilized in boiling water. The servants left but Priya stayed, and poured water from one of the kettles into a couple of bowls.

"Here - take a towel, rinse it thoroughly in your bowl of water, squeeze the excess water out, then start gently rubbing the upper part of his body down with it. Rinse the towel repeatedly to make sure he is free of all the dirt and mud, and ask Priya to change the water if it gets too murky. I shall take care of the lower part of his body", Ira finished demonstrating the instructions to Geralt, who followed suit right away. And as Jaskier lay there being sponged clean by the healer and his Beloved, Ira started making conversations with him in a soothing murmur to understand better his discomfort as his labour progressed.

"Darling, how do you feel now?"

Jaskier's face was screwed up in a grimace, and he continued to moan as Ira's damp washcloth carefully massaged his belly, but he managed to speak through the pain, "The cramps have reduced a little bit."

"Good. They will come at regular intervals. Right now, that's about once every five to seven minutes. Tell me, honey, do you remember if you experienced mild, irregular cramps in the past few days?"

It was not clear at first whether Jaskier had heard her. But after several long moments, he nodded, and spoke almost inaudibly, "Last two days."

Ira nodded as if satisfied. "Priya, be a darling and go fetch a clean chamber-pot. Julian might feel nauseous at times." Turning her attention back to where she was sponging Jaskier's thighs, she examined him down there.

"Hmm, the cervix has begun to dilate. I'd say it's about four centimetres right now. Julian, darling, do you feel any pressure on your back?"

"A little", came the weak reply. 

Yen and Triss bustled back inside the room, dressed in simple wool frocks with short sleeves, the hems barely reaching their ankles. "How is he?", Yen's question came out almost as an anxious squeak.

"The baby has started moving down the birth canal. Active labour will likely begin in a few hours. We need to position him properly, but for that, I need someone to pick him up and place him on the bed in front of Geralt, who will be supporting him from behind. You two can't do that. Geralt, where's your brother, Eskel?"

"He's outside", answered Triss instead of the Wolf, and quickly left to fetch Eskel.

"Go sit propped up against the pillows", Ira instructed Geralt, who obeyed immediately, "Extend your legs in front of you - not too wide - they should bracket Julian's hips nicely. And make sure you _yourself_ are comfortable - you will have to sit there supporting Julian for anywhere between four to eight hours."

Eskel followed Triss inside. "Eskel, pick Julian up carefully and place him on the bed between Geralt's legs, so that his back is leaning on Geralt's chest. Can you do that?"

Eskel didn't bother to answer her. Instead, he stooped and picked up Jaskier, bridal style, in his arms. The prince, despite the contractions wracking his abdomen, flushed bright crimson and began squirming feebly in his Witcher brother's arms, until Eskel spoke in a stern voice. 

"STOP IT, JASK! What the heck are you so embarrassed about?"

He placed Jaskier very gingerly on the bed, just as Ira had instructed him to, and Geralt immediately reached out to hold Jaskier's arms. But before Eskel could let go, Yen spoke up. 

"Wait! Esk, keep supporting Jask a bit longer - hold his back and his belly - keep him steady", she said, as she strode forward. Then deftly, she undid the buttons on Geralt's nightshirt.

"What are you doing?", asked the White Wolf, puzzled. 

"You both need to feel as connected to each other as possible as you go through this phase - as you go on to become parents in a few more hours, Geralt. Jask will feel far more relaxed and secure if his back is pressed to your bare skin, love, rather than some fabric." With that, she tugged his shirt off, leaving him bare from the waist up. 

Eskel gently helped Jaskier lean back and rest against the White Wolf - the prince's back pressed flush against Geralt's strong, muscular and extremely warm chest. Ira now pried Jaskier's thighs apart, and made him spread his legs with his knees bent and his feet on either side of Geralt's shins. She then guided his hands to grasp his knees, but advised him to try and not exert too much pressure on his wrists.

"Geralt, you may grip Julian's shoulders, or feel free to encircle him from behind with your arms. In fact, you may ask him which one he prefers. Julian, you will be fully supported by Geralt - let go and allow yourself to sag against him. You will need to let him take your weight when you push, alright, my boy?"

After Eskel left, there were only four people left in the room other than the two lovers - Ira, Yen, Triss, and Priya as their helping hand. The head healer shut the doors, while Triss went around drawing the lightweight draperies shut so as to keep out the harsh glare of the midday sun, dousing the room in a soothing twilight-like ambiance, although the windows stayed open to allow good ventilation. Priya lit an oil lamp on either side of the bed. Yen perched on the bed next to her two favourite people, and started caressing the prince's belly. Jaskier, with his head leaning on Geralt's shoulder and his eyes closed, moaned at the touch, and Yen could only pray that her little brother would not have to suffer an overly long and painful labour.

*********************************************************************************************

There was a brief lull in the contractions, although Jaskier's mind was right now so frayed that the subliminal sensation of being in pain continued even after the cramps receded. His eyes he had kept squeezed shut for the past several minutes - the last he remembered seeing anything was being gently deposited by Eskel between Geralt's thighs, and Geralt's and Eskel's hands supporting his wobbly frame on all sides. He had tried to remain attentive to the sounds he heard - especially Ira's instructions - but his mind kept drifting in and out of focus as pain jolted through his body and jarred every nerve ending. 

He now lay, panting slightly, with his head on Geralt's broad shoulder and his back pressed flush against Geralt's sculpted chest - both his skin and Geralt's beginning to turn sweaty from the contact. His breaths were rapid, and his heart fluttered in his rib-cage like a frantic hummingbird, but thanks to the way Geralt's left arm encircled his chest and shoulders and the right one alternated between resting very lightly on top of his belly and threading through his hair, he felt anchored and safe.

And now that his mind was allowed a brief respite from the acute, smothering pain, it immediately started wracking itself with something else.

_Guilt._

"Ge-Geralt!", the prince's voice wavered as he called out softly, even as tears started to prick underneath his closed eyelids, "Geralt, I'm so sorry. So, so sorry ..."

And that was when he knew it was completely futile to try to hold back the emotions wreaking havoc on his mind as memories from the last couple of days came flooding back.

"Jasky!", Geralt touched his cheek, "Look at me. Baby, look at me, please."

The prince's eyes came open, and he allowed his face to be tilted a little upward to stare into his Beloved's gold eyes. His lips began to wobble, and tears trickled down his eyes.

"I'm ... I'm so sorry, Geralt", his voice broke, "Fringilla ... she ... she threatened to kill you ... kill you with that spell ... that ... that venom ... the nekurat ... Alvin promised me he ... he would spare ... your life if I ... if I behave ..."

The poor prince whimpered and broke down in earnest sobs, even as his White Wolf clutched him as tightly as possible without causing him discomfort, rocking him back and forth and trying to shush him.

"I know, Jasky, please! Please don't cry, Beloved - it was **not** your fault, Jasky! Please! I know - we all know - how they forced your hand ... you have nothing - **nothing** \- to apologize for, dear heart ..."

"But I ... but I broke your heart, Geralt!", Jaskier wailed, his voice suddenly rising in pain - pain he had caused his darling Wolf - "I shouldn't ... I hurt you ... I hu-hurt you soooo muuuuuch", and his body arched off Geralt's as vicious sobs tore through his chest, impossible to suppress.

"NO! NO! JULIAN, NO! STOP IT!", Ira rushed to the prince's side, pressing her palms on his chest to help him calm down, "Don't cry! This will make the contractions worse! Oh, this silly boy - always blaming himself for everything that goes wrong! JULIAN, STOP IT!"

Geralt put both his arms around Jaskier and pulled him back into the confines of his own chest. "Jasky, no! JASKY! I SAID STOP IT! PLEASE!", he tried to help, but his own voice rose - not in anger, but in fear for what such acute emotional distress would do to his pregnant human, and in frustration that Jaskier was, quite foolishly, shouldering the blame that was deserved by no one but those fucking Lyrians.

Jaskier continued to sob wretchedly, his face now buried into the side of Geralt's neck, tears running like rivers down Geralt's clavicles and chest, "A-all the things I s-said ... Geralt, I hu-hurt you s-so much ... so much, baby ... I love you ... be-believe me, I love you so much ..." And Geralt felt like someone was violently twisting his heart.

_Why did Jaskier think for a moment that he needed to justify any of this?! He had been willing to let himself be taken away by a monster just to save Geralt's life! Geralt knew very well just **how much** Jaskier loved him! To what lengths Jaskier would go to keep his Beloved safe!_

"Jasky, do you not think I already know that?", the Wolf said in a soft, deep voice, gently rubbing his stubbly cheek against the prince's forehead to provide some additional comfort, "Do you not think I love you enough to know that, my silly human?"

"Jask", Yen's hand came to rest very gently on Jaskier's abdomen, "Darling, I think it's safe to say we all know very well how much you would sacrifice for Geralt. Please, Jask ... please, will you not blame yourself for this? I know these last three days have been very, very hard for you, brother mine - you have carried such a heavy burden all by yourself and we could not help, Jask. But if you continue to prolong your suffering through guilt and shame that should _not_ be yours to bear, do you not think it will end up hurting all of us? Geralt, your little one, me, our parents?"

And that, coupled with the fact that Yen's voice sounded so pained and entreating, made Jaskier hiccup himself out of his sobs. But his face still remained pressed to the side of Geralt's neck, breathing in deeply in his Beloved's scent, reveling in the knowledge that Geralt lived, was out of danger, and the two of them were back together, and each knew what endless love and adoration the other bore for him. 

And that's when the next set of contractions came.

Jaskier's entire body immediately went rigid as his head was forced backwards with the force of the cramps, pain shooting upward from his abdomen and making him grit his teeth.

"Aaaaaa ... aaaaa ... Ge-Geralt ... aaaaa!"

"Priya, fill up a new bowl with water from the kettles and bring it over here, and bring a big stack of washcloths", Ira promptly instructed her nurse, "Yen, out of my way. You and Triss will help comfort Jask when I ask you to. Geralt, hold him steady, and hold him close to yourself."

Ira quickly dipped a very soft washcloth in the still very warm water of the bowl and wrung it, then started pressing the wet washcloth gently but firmly onto Jaskier's inner thighs, gradually working upward towards his perineum. She continued to apply the hot compress to his lower abdomen while Jaskier desperately tried to not cry out in abandon.

"Jasky, honey, I've got you, I've got you", Geralt murmured, his hands rubbing his Beloved's shoulders and arms, and his lips pressed kisses to Jaskier's jawline as the prince's head tilted further back against the Wolf's shoulder, the muscles in his neck now taut with tension and agony.

"Julian, rather than screaming, try to moan and pant through the contractions, darling", Ira instructed, "You will cry yourself hoarse in just a few minutes otherwise, sweetheart, and you have _hours_ to go." Yen and Triss groaned simultaneously at that last remark.

"Mmmm ... mmmm ... hurts ... please ... ooooo ... oooooh ... Geralt!", Jaskier sobbed and panted helplessly, his face contorted in anguish and his hands, despite their injuries, gripping his knees tightly in an attempt to take control of his body.

"Right here, baby ... I am right here ... we can do this ... we can do this together", Geralt put his arms around his whimpering Beloved, his own forehead puckered in a pained frown and eyes shining with unshed tears as he wondered just how much Jaskier was enduring at that moment.

_My brave, beautiful human! My loving, darling human! What a warrior you are, Beloved! So much pain you are willingly enduring, just to bring my baby girl into this world!_

In a few more seconds, the bout of contractions subsided, and Jaskier went limp in Geralt's arms. His whole body was now slick with sweat, as was Geralt's, and the prince continued to pant, his eyes closed and tears running down his cheeks. Geralt wiped away those tears, and peppered his Beloved's cheekbones, jawlines and neck with loving kisses. Ira, meanwhile, continued to gently massage the prince's thighs and abdomen with hot-water-soaked washcloths, occasionally asking him how he was feeling (which, for the most part, Jaskier failed to reply to) and examining the dilation of his cervix. Yen and Triss caressed Jaskier's arms and legs, unable to help much more than that and hoping that somehow, all this would be over without subjecting their darling human to much more torture (and knowing, deep down, that their wish was _not_ going to be granted).

And so the hours trickled by.

The contractions kept wracking Jaskier, his frantic and yet increasingly exhausted mind desperately trying to take control of his body, but he knew, deep down, that this was never supposed to be easy. And perhaps pain was indeed an intimate and indispensable part of love - he had witnessed that on multiple occasions. Both he and Geralt had had to go through a lot of pain to be reunited. _It was, therefore, no surprise that bringing Geralt's baby daughter into this world - the baby whom he and his Wolf already loved so much their hearts were bursting at the seams - would involve pain he hadn't known he had it in him to endure._

Geralt diligently supported Jaskier throughout the intensely painful contractions and the brief lulls. He rubbed Jaskier's arms and chest, trying to open up his airways and even his breathing as Jaskier panted through each of his contractions. He bore his human's weight as Jaskier's body was literally hurled back against his in anguish. His own tears mingled with Jaskier's as the prince sobbed brokenly in excruciating agony, surge after surge of uterine cramps threatening to overwhelm his senses. He took it in turns with Yen and Triss to apply warm compress to Jaskier's thighs and belly and forehead. When Jaskier felt queasy and nauseous a couple of times, the Wolf rubbed up and down his back as the prince dry-retched into the chamber-pot (he had not eaten any proper meal since the day before, thanks to his body responding to the despair of what had back then seemed like bidding farewell to his Beloved, and thus there was really nothing to throw up). 

Ira, apart from keeping a watchful eye on Jaskier's cervical dilation, instructed Geralt on how to help his partner relax throughout the labour. Under her guidance, Geralt and Jaskier both focused on their breathing - this was a fraction easier for Jaskier when his abdomen did not feel like it was being torn apart by the cramps. When the cramps came back, Geralt had to persuade Jaskier to focus - he kept pressing kisses to Jaskier's sweat-drenched face, trying to divert his attention from the pain and instead channel his energy into maintaining rhythmic inhaling and exhaling. Geralt's soothing murmurs and kisses helped Jaskier, and the two lovers, their bodies pressed to one another, drew and released the rhythmic breaths as one - their chests rising and falling in unison. And this, in turn, helped to alleviate the cramps a little.

"Here, this is how you can massage your Beloved's abdomen - this kind of massage is known as effleurage", demonstrated Ira, and Geralt followed the movements of her hands keenly, mastering it in no time. At regular intervals, he started pressing, gently but assertively, the palms of his hands on either side of Jaskier's belly, and massaged using circular, rhythmic, stroking movements. And as Jaskier, encouraged by Ira, focused on the rhythm of Geralt's calloused palms so lovingly massaging his belly, it helped his mind handle the shooting pain of the cramps to a great extent. 

Triss left the room a few times, bringing back cups of warm, soothing herbal tea that Geralt held up to Jaskier's lips and which the prince sipped clumsily between spells of contractions. Geralt hoped it helped moisten Jaskier's parched throat and mouth. He himself refused tea and water both - he couldn't care less about his own body when his Beloved's body was going through such tremendous pain and such indelible, profound, life-changing transformations.

Intermittently, the chief healer urged both Jaskier and Geralt to change their positions. Triss and Yen would first help Jaskier get on all fours, then have him rest his elbows on a stack of pillows in front of him and put his weight on the pillows and on his knees. When the contractions raged through him, he muffled his sobs by burying his face in the pillows, while Geralt knelt behind him, gently massaging his hips and lower back to mitigate his suffering, and to help relieve the soreness in those regions. 

"Is it helping with the backache?", Geralt would ask, nuzzling Jaskier's neck with his nose and lips as he hovered above his anguished human, or with his hands kneading the prince's vertebral column all the way down to his sacrum, rubbing his hips and the tensed muscles on the outer parts of his thighs and his calves, "Is this helping with the soreness, baby?". And Jaskier would turn his head to offer a feeble, watery, yet no less fond smile to his Beloved, letting the White Wolf know that a better birthing partner the prince could not have asked for.

At around eight centimetres of dilation, the contractions became almost unbearably severe and came far more frequently, each lasting for almost ninety seconds. Jaskier was now panting like a wounded, hunted animal, his moans now so pained and heart-wrenching that Yen and Triss gasped every time and Geralt held onto his Beloved like he were the most precious, most fragile human in the world, the Wolf's face contorted in an agonized grimace and his eyes brimming with tears as his mutant senses got overwhelmed by just a fraction of what Jaskier was feeling. And the prince now had far less time in between the contractions to recover - his body was now almost entirely beyond his control and he had no option but to utterly rely on his lover and birthing partner.

*******************************************************************************************

The active stage of the labour lasted for more than eight hours, culminating in an hour-long, nightmarish, intensely painful transition phase. 

"And if you have thought, Geralt, that the worst is over, then you have another thing coming, son", said Ira while she had to almost bodily drag Geralt away from Jaskier where the prince lay, completely exhausted and soaked in sweat, in a rare and fleeting moment of respite from the contractions before they renewed their onslaught upon him, "You will need your wits and your strength about you as your human pushes through the second stage of his labour. He is now nearly at ten centimetres - one more set of contractions and he will be ready. Yen and Triss are here - you go take a short walk and come back. Trust me, Geralt."

When Geralt stepped out of Jaskier's bedchamber, Vesemir and Queen Parveen came up to speak with him. The queen had gone in to visit Jaskier a few times during the last several hours - but Jaskier, for the most part, had been unable to do more than moan feebly and piteously and lean into her soft touches, tears streaming down his eyes. The queen had cried too, but there was nothing for it but to go through this life-altering experience of indescribable anguish in order to usher a new life into this world.

"Geralt, how is he?", asked Vesemir, his tone worried, as he shot a quick glance back to where King Stephen sat nearly hyperventilating, "How much longer does Ira think my poor child will suffer?"

It was all Geralt could do to not break down. The past nearly nine hours had been pure torture, especially the transitional part - seeing his Beloved writhe and moan and gasp and pant in excruciating pain while being unable to do anything more than massage his back and belly and limbs or hold him close - it was just too much, and the White Wolf would any day trade having his human exposed to such agony for a monster-hunting assignment that required him to face a hundred Alghouls at once. 

The queen perceived how distraught and on the verge of tears he was, and pulled him into a hug. "It's alright, son - Jask chose this. And he would choose this again for you, Geralt. It's necessary pain - it's part of his love for you and the child you have come to love as your own. Don't fret, sweetheart - our Jask is one of the strongest, most resilient humans ever. He will come out of this safe and sound, and with your baby in his arms. You'll see, Geralt."

_And he would choose this again for you, Geralt._

_But did he want that? Could he bring himself to inflict such pain and suffering upon his human again? Would he be any less than a monster if he allowed Jaskier to become pregnant with his child, then experience this torment all over again?_

Geralt didn't know what to say. He stayed silent, his eyes downcast and tearful and his lips trembling, as Vesemir and the queen tried their best to soothe his frayed nerves.

Soon, it was time to head back in for the second stage, and the stage that Geralt was both absolutely dreading and couldn't help looking forward to.

_Because this was when his baby girl would see the light of the world for the very first time._

_Because this was when he would get to hold his baby girl in his arms - he would get to hold his Beloved _and_ his daughter in his arms - he would get to embrace his _family_ for the first time!_

When Geralt entered the bedroom, Jaskier was kneeling on all fours, with his head and elbows resting on pillows, gasping for breath. It was clear that he had just gotten past another bout of extremely painful contractions. 

"Alright, this is when you will need to push when I tell you to, honey", explained Ira brusquely, "Geralt, love, come back and sit down, and we will help Julian back to the position in which you two began. Julian, darling, you are fully dilated now, but hold on and resist the urge to push for a while longer." Jaskier only whimpered in reply, the pressure mounting on his back and pelvis.

Once the two lovers were settled back in their original positions, Geralt holding onto Jaskier like he were his lifeline while Jaskier pressed to his Wolf as if he were clinging to him for dear life, Ira sat down in front of them, pulling towards herself a new batch of clean washcloths and copper bowls filled with water that had been boiled anew.

"Alright, Julian. Do not - I repeat, _do not_ \- push unless and until I tell you to. If you push haphazardly, you will end up expending all your energy, and you might end up tearing your vaginal tissues. So, only when I tell you to, okay sweetie?"

Jaskier was slumped back against Geralt, his eyes glazed and turned towards the ceiling, but he did manage to nod after a few seconds.

And then the contractions were back, and with renewed vigour.

Jaskier's body nearly spasmed as the cramps hit, the nails of his injured hands digging into the flesh of his knees, his face warped in unspeakable pain, and a desperate wail escaped his lips.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Geralt! Geraaaalt! Aaaaaaaa! Pleeeeease, aaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"And push! Push, Julian, push!"

Jaskier was shaking and crying uncontrollably, and Geralt knew, through his own haze of tears, that the prince had not been able to catch a word of what Ira had said.

"Jasky, push! Now! Come on, push! PUSH!", he nearly yelled, his grip tightening painfully on his Beloved's shoulders, even as his heart twisted with guilt.

_My poor baby is suffering so much already. Now, I have to add to it - but if I don't, he will only prolong this suffering for himself. I have to force him to listen to Ira - to push when she asks him to. It's for him and our baby. Forgive me, Jasky, forgive me!_

"Jasky, push! PUSH! NOW!", he urged again, and gently but insistently forced Jaskier to sit up straighter instead of sagging against him.

And the prince, whimpering and sobbing helplessly, gave in to his Wolf's command, and began pushing. 

Again and again, Ira urged him to push, every time the contractions came. He was not allowed to stop pushing once Ira deemed the action conducive to a speedy delivery - no matter what crippling pain he grappled with, no matter how much he felt like ironclad fists had taken hold of his innards, of the nerves and blood vessels and every single organ in his lower abdomen, and were twisting them, rupturing them, rending them to shreds. He tossed and turned in mind-numbing agony, but he was not allowed to stop pushing once the cramps began.

And Geralt ... oh Geralt!

The poor Wolf's face was warped as if he were being subjected to unrelenting, unendurable torture, tears streaming down his face as he almost forcefully persuaded Jaskier, through gritted teeth, to push. 

"Push! Again! Jasky, push! Keep pushing!"

And he never stopped until Ira told him to.

In case of a woman, this phase would normally go faster and with considerably less suffering for the mother than the transitional phase. But the same was not true for a man giving birth - he had to suffer throughout the entire time - the torment that began from the transitional phase lasted until the baby left its birthing father's body fully, and he also usually had to push a lot more through the seemingly endless onslaught of pain than a woman did.

Jaskier was getting too exhausted to continue, and he nearly slumped now, but Ira knew he did not have the luxury to do that until the baby's head was out.

"No, Julian, don't close your eyes. Look at me, hey, look at me, darling. You are about to have another set of contractions, and you need to push. Push, Julian - you have to do this! For your child! Come on!"

But Jaskier's mind was getting foggier by the second - the pain was just too much to bear, and his mind was trying to obliterate it in the blessed darkness of sleep, or even better, unconsciousness.

"Geralt, you have to wake him. He can't afford to fall asleep or lose consciousness, no matter how tired he is."

"Jasky! Wake up! Jaskier!", Geralt shook his Beloved, then thwacked his cheeks gently, but the now-pasty-faced human couldn't bring himself to open his eyes.

And Geralt ended up slapping him hard across the face.

"JASKIER! WAKE UP!"

The prince jolted awake with a pained whimper, his lips immediately resuming their wobbling and fresh tears falling from his eyes.

And Geralt began to sob.

_He hit his Beloved! Hit him! While Jaskier was going through an unbearably painful labour!_

_What kind of a monster was he?_

"Geralt, none of that!", Yen yelled, furious, "You have to be steady. Stop weeping - you had to do that! For him!"

Jaskier was now pushing with his jaws clenched and his lower lip bloodied from where he had bitten down on it, pausing only for seconds to pant desperately, his face flushed and contorted in an effort to focus and channel every last ounce of energy in him to push. 

"Good boy! Keep pushing ... keep going ... you are doing excellently, Julian!"

The contractions were repeated several more times, their occurrences now becoming nearly continuous, giving Jaskier no time in between. Behind him, Geralt continued to cry, and continued to urge him to push in a broken voice. And Jaskier, sniffling, whimpering, writhing, moaning, and more often than not, sobbing uncontrollably, obeyed his White Wolf and kept pushing - again and again and again.

"And I can see the baby's head. Julian, just a few more pushes, sweetheart. I can see her head. She is coming out!", Ira nearly trilled, and Yen and Triss gasped in both relief and excitement.

"Mmmmm ... mhmmm ... hurts ... hurts ... Beloved ..."

"Right here ... right here ... I'm holding you, baby, I'm holding you", Geralt sobbed harder than ever, placing wet kisses on his panting human's clammy forehead and cheeks and shoulders, rubbing the sides of his still bulging belly in what he hoped would be a reassuring and comforting massage, "I love you ... I love you so much ... please, Jasky, push ... just a few more times, honey ... please ... I won't ask this of you again, darling ... please, Beloved, push ... push!"

"Come on, Jask! Come on! Come on, please!", Yen and Triss chorused, their hands holding on tight to Jaskier's in an effort to provide him as much support as they could.

"Gaaaaaaaah ... aaaaaaa ... it's too much ... too hard ... pain ... Geraaaalt, pleeeeease! Pain! Hurts! I can't ... it hurts! Huuuurts!"

"Don't you give up!", Geralt ordered, hating himself more than he had ever before, "Don't you dare give up on me! Push! PUSH! PUSH!"

"Julian, give me your hand", Ira said suddenly, prying Jaskier's right hand free with difficulty from where it grasped his knee painfully hard, "Here! Can you feel her? Can you feel her head, darling?"

"Aaaaaaa ... pain ... n-no ... I can't ... I can't feel ... any-anything ... Geralt, baby, please, help! Help me! Aaaaaaaaaa! P-pain! Pleeeease! Too much ... too much pain! Help!"

"What can I do, Ira? What can I do?", the Wolf was frenetic now, and Triss reached out to steady his violently shaking form with a hand on his shoulder.

"Geralt, steady! Steady! He needs you to be steady! He has to push! We have to keep encouraging him! Julian, try, please! You can feel her head! Your fingers are touching her head! Can you not feel her hair, darling?"

"Mmhmmmmm ...", the anguished whimper was the only answer.

"Jask, push! PUSH! YOU CAN'T GIVE UP! PUSH!", Yen tightly gripped her brother's shoulder, "Go for it! Now! Push! All together, PUSH!"

"Julian, she does not have so much time! Your daughter needs to not get stuck - push one last time, sweetheart! Your child is just seconds away from being in your arms, Julian!"

And that last bit had Jaskier pushing with all his might.

"THAT'S IT! SHE'S OUT! I HAVE HER HEAD!", Ira's voice was almost a high-pitched squeal of delight as she gently but securely grasped the baby's head with both her hands and pulled her tiny body out entirely of the vaginal canal, immediately supporting the neck and the back and holding her up like a hard-earned prize.

"Geralt, I'm going to place the baby on Julian's chest, but his hands are injured, so _you_ have to hold the baby to his body. Can you do that?", Ira asked urgently, and Geralt nodded immediately through the veil of tears that streaked his face. 

And Ira placed the baby partially upon Jaskier's chest and partially on his belly, and Geralt held the child pressed securely to his Beloved's body with one hand holding her neck and head and the other her buttocks.

_My baby! My baby girl! My child! Mine and Jaskier's! Our child! Our little one! Our angel! Our daughter! Our beautiful!_

"I-I want to hold her! Please! My baby ... I want to hold her!", Jaskier wept, the cramps yet to subside completely, "Yen, Triss, please!"

Yen and Triss had been holding his hands away from the baby, since his wrists were bandaged with splints and if he instinctively tried to hold the child, he might end up hurting her. Now, however, the two sorceresses swiftly undid the crepe bandages, removed the splints, and muttered incantations under their breath.

"Jask, we have healed the fractures and the sprains in your wrists using a quick spell. It is not going to have a long-lasting effect, and you will need time and treatment to heal properly. But for the next few months, the spell will hold. And you can now safely hold your little one", Yen explained as both she and Triss let go of the prince's hands.

Jaskier's hands flew up to hold his baby.

"My sweetie! My girl! Our girl!", he continued to weep, his heart swelling as his hands came up to rest against Geralt's where the Wolf held their baby girl.

"Julian, you still need to deliver the placenta, hon. Let your sister hold your child for now. Geralt, sweetheart, continue to hold him and support him. The contractions will be a lot less severe, and I am positive this is now just a matter of minutes."

*******************************************************************************************************

Thankfully, Ira's predictions turned out to be true.

Jaskier lay propped against the pillows, the placenta delivered intact with just a few extra contractions, and Ira massaged his abdomen to make sure his uterus felt firm. In a little more than half a year, his reproductive system would morph back into that of a man, and would remain so until and unless he wished to conceive again.

Geralt sat next to the absolutely spent yet joyfully glowing prince, the baby now transferred carefully from Yen's arms into the Wolf's own, the child appearing minuscule in proportion to his strong, burly arms.

_And he held her as if she were a sliver of a star. As if she were a piece of the moon. As if she were a drop of the sun. As if she were the most precious jewel ever to have existed in this world._

_As if she were the most iridescent butterfly he had ever seen, but he was afraid she would flutter away in a heartbeat._

_As if she were the loveliest songbird he had ever set his eyes upon, but he was afraid she would flit away into the trees if he were to so much as blink._

_As if she were the most pristine freshly fallen snow on the summits of the Blue Mountains, and he was terrified she would melt away at the slightest touch of the summer sun._

_As if she were the ethereal blue waters of the most serene, most beautiful, most wondrous lake ever, and he held her cupped in his hands, but he was frozen with the fear that she would slip away through his fingers if he was not careful._

"Care to share, Geralt?", someone asked, and the enthralled, engrossed, enamoured White Wolf looked up from where his gold-amber eyes had been glued to his baby's face to the source of the question.

Everyone laughed, even Jaskier, whose mind was having a hard time staying attentive. Queen Parveen had asked the question, holding out her arms, and Geralt blushed, properly abashed, and gingerly placed the little baby in her arms.

King Stephen took her next, babbling nonsensically to her even though the baby was too small to respond, followed by Vesemir - everyone watched with their jaws hanging slightly open as the Old Wolf started crying softly as he held the baby to himself. Eskel claimed her next, and from the way he positively beamed at the child let everyone know that if Yen was going to be the most doting aunt, Eskel was going to give her pretty tough competition as the most besotted uncle. Lambert surprised everyone by placing a peck on top of the baby's head - who knew the grouchy Witcher could be this taken with his niece at first glance - and Triss was delicate as usual as she held the baby in her arms and rocked her softly.

And it was then that the baby decided that she had had quite enough, and that she was most decidedly hungry.

Out came the weapon that she would be using day and night for the next one year, or more, to browbeat everyone into giving in to her demands.

Crying at the top of her lungs.

The shrill cry echoed through the bedchamber, and everyone marveled at the strength of those tiny lungs.

"Goodness gracious!", exclaimed Lambert, "This one's a mini replica of Geralt! Remember how he used to cry himself into oblivion every time Da caught him sneaking extra desserts during the harvest festivals?"

The room erupted in laughter, and Geralt tried to scowl at Lambert and failed miserably as a dazzling smile lit up his face.

Triss brought the baby to Jaskier, who took her very carefully, his hands still shaking a bit from the ordeal of the birth, and his mind still trying to process the fact that he was a new father who had just given birth to his little girl, and now said girl depended completely on him and his Beloved.

"Alright, everyone", Yen clapped her hands, her usual brusque demeanour returning (which made Geralt roll his eyes), "Feeding time. The lovers need some privacy. Out!"


	19. Bonding with the little one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, people, this is tooth-rotting domestic fluff with a sprinkling of angst... the amount of reading I had to do on newborn care for this chapter is incredible LOL !! PLEASE PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!!

Jaskier didn't know if, despite all the language and literature and poetry classes he had taken back in his university at Oxenfurt, his vocabulary was adequate for describing how he had felt when he had had his first skin-to-skin contact with his baby. 

_That moment, when he had felt, even through the haze of blinding, numbing, literally gut-wrenching pain, Ira's hands extricate his baby from inside him ..._

_That moment, when he had felt, even in his near-catatonic postpartum state, Ira place the minuscule, feebly twitching baby girl on him, sprawled on his chest and stomach, her skin wet and purplish blue, her eyes squeezed shut and tiny face scrunched up in an adorable frown, her wee hands curled into tight little fists ..._

_That moment, when he had heard her shrill cry echo through the room - the cry that signaled that her lungs had kick-started into action ..._

_That moment, when Geralt's big, calloused palms had secured the baby to Jaskier's body, holding her head and neck and her bottom with such tenderness and love, and Jaskier had heard his White Wolf whisper like a prayer "My baby! Our baby! Our baby girl! Our daughter! Our angel!"_

Ira had immediately wiped off the amniotic fluid and mucous that had been clinging to the baby's face, especially her nostrils, and rubbed the baby's chest a little to help open up her airways, and the baby had started breathing normally almost immediately. When Geralt had anxiously inquired the healer as to why their baby appeared blue, she had reassured him with a motherly smile.

"Ira, wh-why is she blue? Ira, is everything okay? Is she alright? Is her heart functioning alright? Her lungs? Is she not being able to breathe properly?" - a barrage of questions had fallen from the White Wolf's lips, and his voice had risen in panic, and even though Jaskier's heart had twisted in worry as those exact same thoughts raced through his mind, a quieter part of his mind could not help but bathe in the flood of love and devotion he had felt for his Geralt.

"Geralt, breathe!", the old woman had chuckled, "Babies come out with bluish skin all the time. She will turn pink in just a few minutes. Please don't panic, dear new father!"

And Ira's words had been true - their baby girl's skin had turned pink in just around seven-eight minutes, although her feet and hands remained tinged with a hint of blue, which Ira again reassured would disappear - the blood vessels there were so small that it took a long time for the blood to circulate and reach those parts, hence the delay in the change of colour.

After Yen and Triss had temporarily fixed Jaskier's sprained and fractured wrists, and he had been able to hold his little baby, reveling in the feel of her impossibly soft, delicate skin against his palms, the feel of her soft, round cheek and tiny chest and stomach all pressed flush against his bare, sweaty skin, Ira had offered Geralt the chance to snip the umbilical cord.

"You-you're sure?", the Witcher had asked in a voice that was both disbelieving and tremulous with emotions deeper and more profound than his mind could even begin to fathom, "What if I hurt them?"

"Geralt, sweetheart, this is your Beloved and this is your baby. You will never hurt them. Have some faith, my darling, and come here - let me show you how to cut the cord."

And Jaskier had watched, his eyes wide with affection and amusement despite how drained his body felt, as his White Wolf - the acclaimed Witcher, known for his ferocity, his unsurpassed skills at disposing of monsters, at battling the fiercest, most malevolent dark creatures - took the sterilized scissors from Ira with shaking hands, and very gingerly and hesitantly snipped their baby girl's umbilical cord.

"Way to go, Geralt!", Yen had patted the still shaking, unnerved Witcher on the shoulder, making Triss and Ira, and even the wearied Jaskier, giggle, "You are on your way to becoming the most amazing father ever, darling!"

After having delivered the placenta, Jaskier had needed stitches to sew up the tears in his vaginal wall, and Geralt had held on to the baby as Ira had attended to that task. And while Jaskier had gripped Yen's and Triss' hands and gritted his teeth against the pain (the very mild pain, compared to what his body had been pummeled with for the last ten hours or so) of being stitched up, he had watched his Beloved hold their baby girl to that broad chest of his, his amber-gold eyes glued to her face, his expression more open and vulnerable than ever before, his lips cooing to the child who was now looking up at the Wolf with big blue eyes.

"You have your Pa's eyes, my little bunny", Geralt had said in an awed voice, and Jaskier's heart had swelled impossibly. 

_Look at you, my White Wolf! You're melting, darling - our little one is making you melt! She has you wrapped around her wee pinky from day one, darling, and you aren't even trying in the slightest to resist!_

The baby had snuggled into the toasty confines of Geralt's bare chest - taking full advantage of the mutant's body temperature that was far higher and more comforting than a normal human's - her fists now opened and her little fingers grazing over the hair in his chest, her tiny, puckered lips smearing drool all over it. 

_And Jaskier had realized, with a fierce need to love and to protect blossoming in his heart as he watched his new family, that this was his baby bonding with his Beloved - the two most dearly loved people in his life forging a lifelong bond through skin-to-skin contact._

Soon after, Ira, with the help of Yen and Triss, had laid the baby down on several towels spread on the bed (Jaskier could not help noticing how reluctant Geralt was to let his little girl go - how he pined for the touch of her soft skin against his own the moment Yen took her from his arms), and checked her vitals - her heartbeats, her breathing, her colour, her activity level. She had ascertained that the little one's abdomen felt firm and that her genitals had developed properly. She had made sure the baby's vision and hearing functioned properly. 

"Julian, see how steady her heartbeat is? And how even and calm her breathing? The time she has had for skin-on-skin contact with you and Geralt - her fathers - is helping steady her body temperature and her heartbeats. You two are already nurturing and nourishing your baby together as she adjusts to the world outside your womb, my darling."

Geralt had instinctively gathered up Jaskier in his arms, the two lovers staring at each other for a moment and then turning to watch their baby with tearful eyes, and the Wolf had surreptitiously placed a soft kiss on his Beloved's cheek.

"Thank you!", he had whispered, and it was both him trying to put the overwhelming gratitude and adoration he felt for Jaskier into those two words, and a promise for intimate confessions of his love for his Beloved and his baby girl to come when the three of them were alone later that night.

The new fathers had nearly sagged in relief as Ira had declared their baby completely healthy, with no need for further intervention by her or their sorceress friends. She had allayed their fears by promising to drop by and check their little one's health and how she was adjusting to life outside Jaskier's womb every few hours for the next three days. 

"She is a strong one, your girl, my darlings", Ira had smiled down adoringly at the little baby who now took in her surroundings with her wide blue eyes, and emitted soft grunts, "Don't you two fret - she will give you plenty of sleepless nights without you two working yourselves up into a frenzy."

She had swathed the baby lovingly in a piece of very soft, white cotton cloth, and then brought her over to the two anxiously waiting fathers. 

"Julian, hold out your arms."

"Ira, I'm - I'm afraid", Jaskier had stammered, his eyes wide with apprehension, his body nearly shrinking as he tried to squirm into his Beloved's chest, "What if I hold her wrong, Ira? What if I hurt her? What if my hands slip? What if I make some mistake, like not supporting her neck and head? What if I..."

And Geralt had put his strong arms around his frantic, nearly hysterical Beloved, and rubbing his back up and down in a soothing motion, kissed his temple deeply, "Breathe, Jasky, breathe! You won't ever hurt our child! You are the birth-father of our little girl, Jasky! You brought her into the world, through all that pain... how can you even think you might _forget_ to hold her head and neck? Of course you won't, Beloved, and I am here - always - to support you both. You know that, right? Ira is showing us right now how to hold our angel. Please, have courage, darling. We will do this together, and we will let no harm come to our little bunny."

And those words, and the confidence in his lover's voice, was what had finally succeeded in assuaging the prince's fears.

Ira had shown them not just how to hold the little one, but also how to pick her up from the bed or from her crib. "And after she pees and poops, which won't be until after Julian has fed her, I shall come back and show you two how to swaddle her up, though for the most part keep her bare or at most wrap a blanket around her. Now, Yen, you may call the others inside, and Triss, be a dear and call me back from downstairs once the baby is fed - I need to show these two how to burp their little one. I must be off to make sure Mousesack is healing nicely..."

"Ira, how is he?", Geralt had asked, his tone worried.

"No permanent damage done. He regained consciousness soon after Sabrina brought him in. Told me to let him know when the baby comes - said he mustn't miss this moment of his childhood friend becoming a father for the first time."

******************************************************

"Geralt, Jask, you two will be fine on your own?", asked Yen after everyone had trickled out of the room with many congratulations and good wishes and fond smiles at the now bawling baby.

Geralt knew his best friend wanted the three of them - the two brand new fathers and their darling baby - to bond without any interruption and interference from the outside. And he felt a rush of gratitude for her - Jaskier, especially, and he himself too, had had little time to bask in the company and physical closeness of their little one, and the fathers needed it as desperately as the newborn did.

"We've got this, Yen", he affirmed, and with a doting smile aimed at the trio, the sorceress left the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Hold on, sweetheart", the Wolf said, scooting forward and deftly undoing the ribbons that fastened the specially made soft cotton shirt that Jaskier wore - a shirt that the queen and Yen had come up with together and gotten tailored for the prince to allow him to breastfeed with ease.

"It's so convenient", Jaskier remarked fondly, even as his rapt eyes watched his Wolf part the two sides of the shirt on the front. Geralt nodded, but his eyes were on their baby girl - the little one was really hungry now, and squirmed in his Beloved's arms.

"Right here, sweetie, right here", soothed Jaskier, even as Geralt guided their little one to the prince's left breast.

"Yen was saying that if left long enough on my chest, she likely would be able to find the breast by herself."

"Yes, but she might need help latching on. It's vital - she won't be able to draw the milk out if she does not latch on properly. Hold on", said Geralt, then very gently, very softly stroked the baby's right cheek until the little girl was persuaded to turn her head to the right and open her mouth wide.

She nuzzled the nipple, then licked it slowly, rather experimentally, and the two fathers watched on anxiously. 

"Do you think we need to call Ira? What if she does not know how to ..."

But Jaskier's worried words were drowned in a soft "Oooof" as their daughter clamped down on the nipple, surprisingly hard for someone so little and with only gums, no teeth.

"Oh! Oh gosh! I think it is safe to say she knows how to latch on quite well", he said breathlessly, even as Geralt chuckled and gently caressed the baby's scant brown hair, "And ow! Ow! My belly hurts a little."

"Uterine cramps. Triss warned me earlier it's common the first few times you breastfeed - the breastfeeding will help contract the uterus, which is also crucial for a smooth return to your usual anatomy", Geralt explained, rubbing the prince's back gently to help alleviate the discomfort.

"How does it feel, Jasky?", Geralt asked in a soft, deep voice, as he watched with wide eyes his Beloved sitting there suckling their child, his eyes closed and mouth slightly open, clearly savouring the feeling, "To breastfeed her for the first time?"

The prince, panting very slightly, cracked open his eyes and fixed his Wolf with the most dazzling smile, "Other than how hard she is sucking and pulling on my nipple? I don't think I know how to describe it, Beloved, but _divine_ might be a good word to start with."

The fathers sat huddled together - Jaskier holding their girl and watching her suckle on him with an enraptured expression, and Geralt with one arm around Jaskier's shoulder and the other cradling the baby, his fingers softly brushing her thin hair from time to time, his head on his prince's shoulder as he too, with his amber eyes, drank in the beauty of their child. The little one had her wee hands softly clutching the breast, and her huge, vivid-blue eyes blinked up at her two fathers as she gulped in the milk, her chest and stomach rising and falling as she drank.

_Bliss. Utter, perfect, priceless bliss._

_The three of them lost to the world, enamoured in each other, basking in each other's love._

That is, until Jaskier heard a soft sniffling sound from where Geralt's head rested on his shoulder, and realized ...

_... that his White Wolf was crying!_

"Geralt? Baby, what ...!", Jaskier's voice was full of concern, "Baby, what happened? Wh-why are you crying? Sweetie, please, I can't even hold you - I have to hold her ..."

"No, no, i-it's okay, I-I know", Geralt hiccuped, but kept weeping softly into his human's shoulder, his tears dripping down Jaskier's right shoulder and breast, "I-I'm sorry, sweetheart - I ... I ..."

"Baby, please, speak to me - what is it? What hurts, honey?"

"Nothing - it's just ... it's just that ... it was so hard, Jasky ... so hard - watching you suffer so much, for that long ... it was too much ... too much, baby ..."

Jaskier felt his heart swell - oh, his sweet, sweet White Wolf! While he himself had been thrashing and flailing and moaning in the excruciating throes of giving birth to their little one, how much pain had his birthing partner - his Beloved - been in? How much pain had _Geralt's_ mutant body and mind, so attuned to Jaskier's, been subjected to, while Jaskier had writhed and whimpered and sobbed in acute labour pain?

"Baby, I'm fine. I swear, Geralt. I'm completely fine now. Not _at all_ in pain anymore. I promise, sweetpea ..."

"I ... Jasky, I can't do this to you again."

"What?", Jaskier asked, his expression befuddled, "I don't understand ..."

"I won't ... I don't want another child with you."

"Geralt!!"

"No, I ... I have decided ... I won't get you with child. You won't be enduring this pain all over again - not on my account", the Wolf's jaws clenched and his eyes hardened.

"Geralt, baby", the prince began, trying his best to make eye contact with his Wolf, "Please! I _want_ children with you! I want your seed to grow inside me, Beloved - I want to carry _your_ babies in my womb! Please, this pain is a small price to pay for a lifetime of happiness with our children - with our daughter _and_ the little ones you'll sire upon me ..."

"No! This is not an option - I won't have you go through pregnancy and labour just so you can bring forth my very own biological child. As much as I want that ..."

"Geralt, this is _not_ something you have the right to decide alone", Jaskier's tone turned admonishing.

"Yes it is! I _will_ forbid Yen from casting the pregnancy-conducing spells on you and giving you any fertility-enhancing potions. You _will not_ endure such intense pain because of me ... I won't allow it."

Geralt hadn't meant to yell. Hadn't meant to sound so angry. But he couldn't deny he was vexed at his Beloved - at how Jaskier, who barely an hour back had been languishing in labour pain, was already eagerly looking forward to future pregnancies and childbirth - and this time, he wanted _Geralt_ to inflict such unimaginable, intolerable, crippling pain upon him!

_What was Geralt? A monster? Wanting his Beloved to hurt like that just so he could hold his biological child in his arms?_

_No, thank you very much! Once has been quite enough, and Geralt already loved Jaskier's first child - their baby daughter - as his very own, very precious child. It hardly mattered that she was not born of his own seed. What mattered was his love for her, and how she had bonded with him even when she was inside his Beloved's belly, if Yen was to be believed - how she had embraced him as her father._

Jaskier didn't reply. The prince looked away from the agitated, scowling Wolf and focused back on their suckling baby, but Geralt didn't miss, with his heart giving a twinge of pain, the way Jaskier's face fell and how hurt he looked.

"Jasky, baby ..."

"She seems full", the prince said quietly, as the little one turned her face away from the nipple, and her eyes began to drift closed as she breathed deeply and contentedly, "And she seems to be falling asleep. Would you please ask Triss to call Ira?"

Geralt stared at his lover, who was resolutely looking away from him, for a moment, before nodding and leaving the room.

***************************************************************************

"It is important to make your baby burp", explained Ira as she took the baby from Jaskier's arms, "Even if she falls asleep while feeding. She is very prone to gulping in a lot of air bubbles while she breastfeeds, and this can cause gas to accumulate in her tummy, causing her tummy-aches. It is especially important, Geralt, Julian, to burp her after nighttime feeding, so she does not fuss around in discomfort - keeping herself and both of you up at night. Alright?"

"Ira, please teach us how to", Jaskier said, eager to learn, and trying to ignore the way his heart hurt.

"Here. Geralt, you hold her. Hold her like this, upright, over your shoulder. _Always_ keep a hand on the back of her head and neck, and the other underneath her bottom, and let her chin rest on your shoulder. This way, she will be in an upright position and your shoulder will put pressure on her tummy and help release the bubbles from her stomach. Here."

Geralt took the little one in his arms and positioned her as instructed. 

"If she does not burp right away, just gently pat and rub her back with one hand, while keeping the other on the back of her head. Try to do this for about two minutes straight. It's better if she burps and _then_ you lay her down to sleep."

The White Wolf's large palm rubbed softly up and down the baby's back.

_And he just couldn't help it anymore._

_Turning around and breathing in deeply in the absolutely wonderful, delicious smell of his newborn, he placed a soft kiss to the side of her head._

_Melitele, I don't know how to thank you for this gift! For this precious, precious prize! My darling! My angel! My little bunny! My world!_

And almost immediately, his little bunny burped, and spit a fair amount of milk back up her esophagus, spattering Geralt's shoulder and clavicle with the white goo. 

"Oh ho ho!", Yen chortled, and Ira joined in, "That's my good girl! She is going to make sure her Da bathes often enough!"

Geralt smiled down indulgently at his slightly frowning baby girl, and holding her to his chest with one arm, wiped away the spit from her mouth, as she stared up at him and made soft noises of contentment. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, and felt like his heart was going to melt right then and there as her face suddenly split into a toothless, happy smile.

And as he raised his tearful eyes from where they had been resting upon his darling child, he saw Jaskier staring at him, eyes wide with love and joy and ... and pain.

"She is drowsy. Okay, Geralt, go ahead and lay her down in the crib. She would need to be fed again in about two hours, or may be two and a half hours - no later than that - okay, Julian? Try and change breasts often - if she suckled on your left one this time, try and make her suckle on your right next. And if your nipples get too sore, ask Geralt to soak a cotton washcloth in warm water and apply as a gentle compress - it will help with the soreness and also the milk flow. Alright?"

Jaskier nodded, his eyes still locked with his Beloved's.

"We will hold off on her bath until tomorrow, at the very least. The vernix - the white cheese-like coating you two saw when she came out of your womb, Julian - well, that one is very helpful in regulating your baby's body temperature and moisture, and helps protect against harmful germs. The longer it is allowed to stay on her, the better. And I am sure you two could do with some rest and food, and Julian with a hot bath. Yen, have the three grandparents watch over the baby - they need to bond with her, as do you, for that matter, my dear new aunt."

Yennefer all but jumped in glee at the prospect of spending time with her little niece, even though said niece would most likely be sleeping the entire time.

****************************************************************************************

Geralt had decided it best to bathe Jaskier in his suite, as the king, the queen and Vesemir were all gathered in Jaskier's bedroom, watching over their sleeping baby (Yen probably lapping up the beauty of her sleeping niece in the crib - he thought fondly).

And he wasn't about to let his Beloved walk all the way to his suite after going through half a day's worth of labour pain and childbirth.

Which meant that currently, Jaskier was clinging to Geralt's neck with his arms as the Wolf carried him, bridal style, down the corridor. Jaskier really, really wanted to nuzzle the crook of Geralt's neck with his nose, to snuggle closer, but he could not bring himself to. He still hurt from their conversation earlier, and the way his Wolf had yelled at him. And he knew that Geralt knew it from the way the prince stayed stiff and rigid in his arms.

Geralt sighed heavily as he placed Jaskier down on his own bed, taking care to be as gentle as possible. The prince still hissed slightly in discomfort, but squeezed the Wolf's arm reassuringly.

"The servants have brought up the buckets of hot water. I'll go fill the tub, then come back and get you. Alright?"

"Yes, thank you."

When the tub was filled with deliciously warm water, Geralt padded back to where Jaskier sat dozing slightly, and pried the clothes off his human's body. Picking him up once again, Geralt came back and slowly lowered him into the tub, asking him if the temperature felt right. He then gathered up lots of freshly laundered towels in his arms, and a vial of soft soap, foregoing anything abrasive. Adding a few drops of fragrant tree oil into the tub, he settled down on a low stool next to it and began bathing the prince submerged to his chest.

"Try to relax, baby. I'll scrub you clean with the soap. Tell me if anything hurts, or you feel any discomfort, okay?"

Jaskier nodded, his big cornflower-blue eyes looking up at Geralt vulnerably for a moment, before he closed them and leaned back against the raised rim of the tub. Geralt quickly placed a thick folded towel underneath his human's head to act as a pillow - he knew Jaskier's neck was sore too, and he was keen to ensure his human was as comfortable as possible.

Pouring a large dollop of the soft soap onto his palm and working up a thick lather, the Wolf began smearing it very gently onto Jaskier's torso, beginning with his throat, the sides of his neck, his chest and his breasts, taking extra care around his nipples, and slowly massaging his belly. Jaskier couldn't help but let out a tired but contented sigh as the warmth of the water and the tender ministrations of his Beloved helped sooth his aching, taut muscles and the tension oozed out of his body.

And it was then, as he hummed in the warmth and love his Wolf was showering him with, his eyes closed, that he felt Geralt bury his face into his shoulder.

"Jasky..."

"Baby", Jaskier, unable to stay miffed and hurt and act distant and aloof towards his darling Wolf any longer, and knowing full well how deeply Geralt was hurting as well, pulled him into a tight hug.

"I'm so sorry ... I ... I just don't want to ..."

"I know, sweetpea, I know. What less could I expect of someone as compassionate and giving and unselfish as you, Beloved?"

"Jasky, I'm not ...", Geralt began to protest, his voice slightly muffled by the fact that his face was now buried in the crook of the prince's neck, but his human didn't let him finish.

"You're not any of those things, Geralt?", asked Jaskier, the hint of a challenge in his voice as he forced the Wolf to look into his eyes with a finger underneath his chin, tilting his head up, "You, who chose to love and promised your heart to a man who was already pregnant with someone else's child? You, who made the conscious choice of accepting and embracing this child wholeheartedly as his own? You, who risked his life to protect this man and this child from harm? You, who saw this man through the entirety of his labour, supporting him and taking care of him and making sure he felt loved and held and sharing in his pain? And you have been taking care of this man and this baby ever since her birth - bathing us both in your love. And you think you do not deserve those attributes, my Beloved?"

Geralt didn't know how to counter any of that. He just stared into the depths of his human's eyes, his lips wobbling, his eyes shining wetly.

"Geralt, I made an informed, conscious choice in wanting to be the birth-father of a child. I really wanted a child. Granted, I wanted it, back at that time, with the wrong man. But my heart was true, Beloved. Do you not think I would want the same with you, darling? Even more earnestly? Because you are - please believe me - the love of my life. And please believe me when I say that no one would be happier than yours truly if I can bring forth into this world _your_ children, Geralt. Can you imagine how amazing that would be? If you were _this_ tender and loving and supportive while I was giving birth to a baby _not_ born of your seed, and yet you were so happy to see her arrive, so enthralled and captivated by her from the very first moment she was placed in your arms, and you held her to my chest, then can you imagine how you would feel when it is your _very own_ baby?"

"Yes, I know, but ..."

"Geralt, hon, if you truly don't want a child - another child - with me, then I'll understand, completely. And I shall never ever force you to give me one. But from our past conversations and from what I have learned of you in all these months together, I do not think that is the case. You are shying away from this merely because you dread seeing me go through labour again, isn't that right?"

The gold-amber orbs dipped down, and after several seconds of silence, the Witcher swallowed thickly and nodded.

"Look at me, sweetheart. Please, look at me. I _want_ this, Geralt. Our baby daughter is here, but you didn't sire her upon me. I know that wouldn't make you love her any less, but I want children _with_ you. And as long as you want the same thing, please rest assured that my love for you, and your love for me - all that love is strong enough to help me go through all the pain necessary to bring our children into this world. Trust me, Geralt. Pain and vulnerability are indispensable when it comes to true love. The pain of childbirth is something I shall willingly welcome if it means having a family with you. You know that, don't you Beloved?"

No reply came. Because the White Wolf had begun to cry.

_All these years of loneliness, ostracism, being hated and abhorred and mistrusted and pushed away ..._

_And here was Jaskier - who could have chosen anyone else - choosing him instead, and making it clear in no uncertain terms, without fuss and verbosity, how much he would love a family with Geralt ..._

_How could he take all this love? All these gifts? All these hopes and promises and dreams?_

"I promise I shall take my time to recover. I promise I shall take good care of myself. We'll wait until both of us are ready and yearning for a second little one in our arms. Yes?", Jaskier's voice was soothing as he cupped his Beloved's face and placed a loving kiss on his noble nose, finally succeeding in making the White Wolf offer him a tearful smile.

"At least three years", said Geralt, the note of authority he tried to affect in his voice marred by the way his lips quirked up in an indulgent smile. 

"Two? Please? Pretty please?"

"No way."

"Two and a half then? Come on, that ought to be enough time to recover from the trauma of having to _watch_ a blood-smeared, amniotic-fluid-covered baby come out of your husband's vagina..."

"Fine fine, you relentlessly pestering human", Geralt shut his prattling prince up by catching his lips in a deep, ardent kiss.

*****************************************************************

Their first night together with their baby girl was filled with anxious waking up on Jaskier's part and not a single moment of sleep on Geralt's. 

Ira came back one more time to ensure everything was well with both baby and birth-father - that the baby was not jaundiced and that Jaskier was not continuing to bleed. She taught the new parents how to care for the umbilical-cord-stump of their daughter and how to, when necessary, swaddle her in pieces of soft cotton cloth.

"Make sure you keep it nice and toasty for your little one, even if you yourselves feel the weather's warm enough. Babies aren't as efficient as us in maintaining their body warmth. This is another reason why we are holding off on the bath, and we shall stick to sponge baths for the most part, until her cord-stump is healed", she instructed, while Geralt soaked a soft cotton washcloth in boiled water and, wringing it, gently dabbed at his daughter's face, especially the corners of the eyes and the mouth, her hands and her genitals, wiping them clean.

Ira left soon after, with a promise from the new parents that they wouldn't hesitate to call her should the need arise at any point of time during the night, and asked them to try and not worry too much. 

"I know that it is impossible for you two brand new doting fathers to not worry yourselves into insomnia about why your daughter's making that noise that seems to indicate nasal congestion, or why she is hiccuping, or holding her breaths for a few seconds at a time, or having refluxes. All of these are perfectly normal. Just make sure you breastfeed her once every two to three hours, Julian, and Geralt, keep an eye on her temperature, breathing and heart-rate. If she cries, it's most likely because she has peed or she needs to be burped to let out some gas from her stomach. And I am always at hand, as are Yen and Triss."

As Geralt and Jaskier sat on the bed with their baby in between them - blissfully asleep and breathing deeply and peacefully, with her belly full - the Wolf couldn't help but feel that he would trade his entire lifetime for this one night - their first night with their little one. She was yet to be swathed in blankets, and very gently, he laid his large, calloused palm on top of the bare skin of her stomach. 

"My hand covers her entire tummy!", he exclaimed in an awed whisper, even as Jaskier caressed the top of the little darling's head with exceeding tenderness, "She is so tiny ..."

"And so fragile! I feel like I might break her", Jaskier concurred worriedly, "I wonder if it would have helped if I had not gone into labour yet ... may be if she had stayed longer inside me ..."

"Jasky ...", Geralt smiled fondly, shaking his head, "My silly human! What am I going to _do_ with you?"

After Jaskier was done feeding their daughter the second time and they had tucked her into her crib, covering her with plush, downy blankets, the two lovers stumbled into bed, snuggling up to each other and holding each other as close as possible, with Geralt flinging a blanket over their torsos and Jaskier capturing his lips in a sweet, long goodnight kiss.

"You try to catch up on some sleep, Beloved", Geralt said lovingly as he cuddled his exhausted human, "I'll wake you up when she needs to feed."

"B-but you need to rest too, baby", Jaskier insisted, though his words were already becoming a slurred, incoherent mumble as he yawned, and his heavy eyelids were drooping shut, "You should ... sl-sleep t-too ..."

Geralt smiled indulgently at the now softly snoring prince next to him, placing a soft kiss on his nose.

"Sleep deeply and restfully, my love, because I am no longer just the Sentinel of your kingdom, but the Sentinel watching over our family too."


	20. Our very first year with our baby girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter talks about the two new fathers juggling the responsibilities of bringing up their darling baby for the first one year of her life, aided and supported by their amazing friends and family (or rather, I should say "family by blood and family by choice"). The next chapter will be the last one of this fic, and I hope you all enjoyed this journey with me :) I loved it, and I hope to keep writing more fics on this couple - to me, Jaskier and Geralt are made for each other, and with all due respect to Yen, she might make Geralt's closest friend and confidant, but never the soothing, loving, kind, understanding soulmate our White Wolf deserves...
> 
> PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW :D And feel free to suggest what sort of themes (e.g. you could tell me what sort of angst you like) based on Geralt / Jaskier that you would like to read in future fanfictions :)

The months passed by in a blur.

Neither of the two new parents could have imagined that they would be _this_ busy! Or _this_ sleep-deprived! One had spent his lifetime, or nearly all of it anyway, hunting monsters and battling the darkest and most malicious of creatures, traveling the Continent alone with nobody but Roach for company, and the other had spent his university years at Oxenfurt staying up night after night, studying diligently and engaging in research. Yet never before had they stumbled around throughout the day _this_ bleary-eyed, groggy-minded and bone-tired, and yet _this_ filled with joy and excitement (mingled with nervousness and constant worry), their weary faces ready to break into the brightest of smiles at the mere mention of their baby, let alone the sight of her.

Said baby kept their hands, and the hands of all her aunts and uncles and grandparents completely full. Her every waking moment was spent either being nursed at Jaskier's breast, or being cuddled in someone's arms, and even when she slept, several of her doting family members would be gathered around her crib, basking in her presence and her love under the pretext of watching over her.

Bath times were especially fun for her (and if her parents were being honest, equally fun for them, despite their dramatic sighs and complaints).

Geralt and Jaskier had together given Ciri (she officially came to be called Cirilla) her first bath three days after her birth, and although they limited themselves to sponge baths for the first few weeks, proper baths became more of a routine, at least two to three times a week, soon after. They would usually bathe Ciri in the afternoons - the warmest hours of the day - and it helped that most days, the sun burned quite fiercely and the breeze that blew intermittently was warm as well. Jaskier would carry the baby out onto the terrace where he and Geralt had first met, along with a large, thick towel draped over his arm, and Geralt would follow, with the specially made tiny wooden bathtub tucked under his arm and vials of oil and soft soap held in his other hand. The servants would bring up a couple of buckets - one filled with freshly boiled water and the other filled with cool water - and several freshly laundered downy towels and washcloths. With all the preparations complete, the trio would begin the rituals of the bath-time tussle each of them so eagerly looked forward to.

Spreading out the towel he had brought, Jaskier would lay the little one down on her back on top of it, then pouring out some castor oil onto his palm, begin massaging her gently, while she lay happily basking in the warmth of the sunlit terrace, while Geralt would shield her eyes from the glare of the noonday sun with his palm. The Wolf would then pour out water into the tub from both the buckets and mix them well until it felt nice and toasty when he checked it with his elbow or the underside of his wrist. Very slowly, with one of his large, calloused palms supporting the back of her head and her neck, and the other her bottom, Geralt would lower Ciri into the tub, with only up to her belly submerged, while Jaskier would gently wet her entire torso with his hands. Then, pouring out the very mild, fragrant soft soap (that Yen had specially prepared for her darling niece) onto his palms and making a lather, he would tenderly rub it all over the little one except for her face. The face they would clean later - with a washcloth dipped in soapy water - taking extra care to clean around her eyes, nostrils, ears and mouth. 

Some days, Jaskier would also apply a very gentle shampoo onto the baby's wispy hair, making sure to protect her eyes from the lather. Although she would start out surprisingly patient and calm under the ministrations of her two doting fathers, she would soon start to squirm and fidget, making it hard for even Geralt to hold on.

"Last I checked, you were a human, Jasky. How come you gave birth to a slippery eel like this one?", the Wolf would ask while his baby daughter splashed water all over him and his Beloved, causing both of them to erupt in giggles.

Once the baby girl was satisfactorily clean, she would be quickly wrapped up in layer upon layer of thick, downy towels, with Geralt holding her snugly in his arms and Jaskier tenderly drying her hair with an extra-soft dry towel or washcloth, as they padded back towards their room. She would usually become rather sleepy after the ordeals of bath-time and the valiant fights she put up with her fathers while they tried to bathe her. Most of the time, she either dozed off in Geralt's arms even before they had the chance to extricate her from the towels swathing her, or while Jaskier sat down to breastfeed her - her lips soon letting go of his nipple and her eyes drifting closed as she began softly snoring in his lap.

Ciri was able to hold her head up at only around two months of age - something that both her fathers marveled at - and she began to be able to sit up with a little help from them when she was around four months old. Geralt would support her with a loving palm pressed to her back and another placed on her little tummy (and he still could not believe how minuscule she was, and how his hands nearly engulfed the entirety of his sweet baby daughter), and she enjoyed sitting like that - with her father holding her weight - while her birth-father would place soft kisses on her chubby, dimpled cheeks and her tiny nose, making her face split into toothless grins of happiness. The sight of those wide smiles, the frequent chirps and happy noises, the high-pitched giggles that often left their baby breathless - all thawed the hearts of the two fathers more than anything else in the world ever could.

Eskel and Lambert went out of their way to gather chunks of pine and cedar wood in order to whittle them into little animal-shaped toys for baby Ciri to play with, though someone always had to be on guard while she played with those, lest she put one in her mouth. Triss and Queen Parveen were often discovered busily crocheting away soft wool bears and rabbits and kittens and puppies for Ciri to cuddle. Vesemir and King Stephen would take turns in carrying Ciri in their arms out into the palace gardens in the mornings - the baby gaped in wide-eyed wonder at all the beautiful flowers and birds and bees humming and buzzing around, while the two old men crooned and babbled to her. And Yen gave up much of her time researching magic in her study or up in the library in favour of spending time with her darling niece, watching over her as Ciri first learned to roll on her back, when she first learned to rock back and forth on her hands and knees, when she first learned to push up on all fours from where she lay on her tummy and crawled, slowly and hesitantly, straight into her aunt's arms.

And by the time Ciri began crawling, everyone quickly realized that the little monster had transitioned into something totally unstoppable. 

She was barely six months old when she learned to crawl on all fours, and since then, no amount of swaddling could dissuade her from venturing out of her crib or from her fathers' bed, from wriggling free of Lambert's arms and Vesemir's snug embraces and launch herself into a mad rush, scurrying away from whoever tried to pursue her, more often than not taking refuge underneath a couch or a bed (thankfully, she couldn't stand yet, and the beds were high enough that she wouldn't hit her head on their wooden bases).

"Ciri, honey, just this one bite! I promise, baby, please!", Geralt's pleadings fell on deaf ears as his baby daughter dashed away on her hands and knees, giggling so hard it was a marvel she didn't topple over in glee, "Please baby! You might hurt your head! Please come out, hon? This mashed potato tastes good, doesn't it?"

Apparently not good enough to lure Ciri out from where she now crouched underneath the biggest, lowest sofa in the palace's living room, Geralt cooing to her in vain.

"N-naw naw naw!", the baby babbled, shaking her head and chortling even more, her eyes on the bowl containing the creamy mashed potatoes with butter Triss had especially prepared for her. 

"Well, how about this lovely rice porridge?", asked Eskel, laying himself down next to where Geralt lay sprawled on the floor, his hand holding out another bowl - this one filled with rice porridge mixed with mashed carrots and peas.

"Naww naw naw naw!"

"Oh come on! It's not _that_ bad, hon! This sofa's too low, baby, I can't reach you", Geralt grumbled, his arm extended as far as it would go but still unable to touch his baby girl, who just giggled and crawled farther back, successfully avoiding getting caught by her father.

"Little bee, come on out!", Vesemir joined his pups next to the sofa, beckoning to the baby, who turned eyes brimming with mischief at her granddad and stuck her tongue out, making him shake his head.

"She puts you to shame, Geralt! What a mischievous girl you are, my bee!"

In the end, Yen and Jaskier had to jointly tempt Ciri out of her hidey-hole with the promise of freshly squeezed orange juice (something that the baby absolutely loved, and smacked her lips happily every time she was allowed to have a tiny bit of the sweet beverage).

Some days, Ciri would enjoy leading her fathers on a merry wild chase around their suite, her gleeful laughter echoing off the walls as she crawled hither and thither, incredibly fast, trying to give both Jaskier and Geralt the slip. "Wait up, baby! You're too fast!", Jaskier would cry in mock exasperation while following the little one around, until Geralt came up from the other side and caught her, picking her up in his arms and twirling her around, "Gotcha, my little bunny! Where will you flee now, my darling?"

Some days, Ciri played hide and seek with Eskel and Lambert, usually partnering up with Yen (who kept a watchful eye on her increasingly naughty niece) and managing to hide so adeptly in broom cupboards or behind big flower-pots in the terrace that the two Witchers could only tell her location from following her scent (the rules of the games strictly forbade use of any mutant senses, and so more often than not they had to accept defeat). She would lie on King Stephen's or Queen Parveen's lap while the two of them tried to feed her tiny morsels of solid but well-mashed, nutritious food, often spitting it all out on their faces and giggling happily at the crestfallen look her royal grandparents gave her with their faces splattered in bits of mashed potatoes and rice.

Ciri began taking great joy in grabbing fistfuls of Geralt's beautiful silver-white tresses whenever he picked her up, and pulling viciously, until her father let out screams of "Ow! Ow!" and Jaskier had to quickly come and gently pry her fingers off his Beloved's hair. Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir were faced with much the same treatment, and the four Witchers - the four formidable, awe-inspiring, frightening monster-slayers - bore this daily regimen of torment with dazzling smiles on their faces, warming the hearts of all who watched.

"How come she never ever pulls _your_ hair? Or Ma's?", Geralt would ask Yen or Triss in a vexed whisper as his eyes watered from the way Ciri yanked at his tresses, "You three have longer hair than me! Ow! Baby, no, please! Ow!". And Yen and Triss would double over sniggering at their friend's predicament. 

Those were some of the happiest, most blissful days of Jaskier's life, no matter how exhausted he felt from having to wake up every three to four hours throughout the night to nurse the little one. He would watch, eyes tearing up with emotions too hard to contain, as Geralt sat their darling baby down on his lap and delicately brushed her now swiftly growing hair, gathering it up in a lovely pony-tail which he then fastened with a beautiful, glossy red ribbon. He would watch as Vesemir burped the baby, then rocked her in his arms and hummed lullabies in his deep bass voice until she fell asleep with her mouth slightly open, drool running down his shoulder where her head rested. He would watch with an enraptured smile on his face as his Beloved blew raspberries into their little angel's tummy or tickled her to his heart's content, making her squeal and giggle uncontrollably. So often, as the three of them lay relaxing on the bed during lazy spring afternoons, Ciri would snuggle up to her fathers, placing sloppy, slobbering kisses on their cheeks and noses and then promptly falling asleep, snugly enveloped in the entwined arms of the prince and the Witcher. 

****************************************************************************

"Can my baby bunny catch me?"

Geralt was crouched some distance away from the ten-month-old Ciri, with a beautiful rag doll in his hands - fashioned in the shape of a lovely young girl in an iridescent wool frock of the brightest blue and orange and gold - a favourite of Ciri's to play with.

"Aaaaaaaaa ... ooooo ... oooo", Ciri pushed her itsy-bitsy pale pink lips, so like her birth-father's, into an adorable 'o'-shaped pout as her tiny index finger pointed towards the doll clutched in Geralt's hand. 

"No!", Geralt's face cracked into a mischievous smile as he shook his head and started backing away, immediately causing his baby girl to frown.

"Jasky, look, she frowns just like Da when she is annoyed", the Wolf called out to his Beloved. 

Said Beloved was standing with his back to his White Wolf and his baby daughter, wearing an expression that was equal parts resigned exasperation at the antics of his two darlings and amused fondness at how much of a child Geralt still was at heart. He paused in his task of mashing together steamed potatoes, peas and broccoli florets with boiled rice and butter - Ciri's lunch - and rolled his eyes.

"Stop driving her mad, Geralt - it's _me_ she takes it out on, biting down hard on me when I nurse her."

The Wolf barked a laugh, but didn't relinquish his hold on the rag-doll. 

"Here, come get it, darling! Come on, sweetpea ... come to Da!"

"Aaaaaaa ... a-dah!"

Jaskier whirled around to face Ciri, and Geralt's eyes went wide as saucers.

"Did she just ...?"

"Did you hear that?"

The words tumbled forth from the lips of the two astonished fathers at the same time, even as the baby looked from her Da to her Pa with a big, happy smile lighting up her face.

"No way!", exclaimed Jaskier, flopping down onto the ground and scooting closer to Ciri. "Baby, did you say 'Da' before 'Pa'?", he said, pouting, making big blue puppy eyes at the baby as she stared curiously up at her birth-father.

Geralt began guffawing, "Told ya, Jasky!". Jaskier pouted even more, and Geralt shuffled closer to his two dearest humans, big triumphant smile still plastered to his face. Scooping up his darling child in his arms, he planted a kiss on the top of her head, and said, "Baby, here, look at Pa - say 'Pa', sweetheart."

"Aaaa-ddah!"

Jaskier's face fell. He knew he was being puerile and silly, but he couldn't help it. He made to stand up and go back to finish preparing Ciri's lunch, but Geralt's hand gripped his arm and persuaded him to sit back, not letting him leave his daughter's and his Beloved's side. "Stay, Jasky", Geralt spoke in a soothing voice, then placing the little baby in his lover's lap, encircled his two most precious humans in a warm hug. "Baby, look, Pa!", he gestured towards Jaskier, and Ciri tilted her head backwards to look up at her Pa with a beaming smile on her face.

Jaskier's heart felt so full, steeped in happiness and peace and contentment, that his pout dissolved on its own. Cradling the back of her little head in his palms, he lowered his lips to place a soft kiss on Ciri's forehead, making the girl giggle some more.

"A-ppah! Aaaaa-ppah!"

"See?!", came Geralt's joyous trill even as Jaskier picked up the baby and lightly pressed her forehead to his own, tears pricking his eyes, "You said it! You called us 'Da' and 'Pa'! Baby, you called us ..."

Geralt knew that this particular day - this particular moment - would remain etched in his mind and Jaskier's for as long as they lived.

********************************************************************************

Ciri learned to walk mere days before her very first birthday.

Yen, Jaskier and Eskel were sitting with their heads together around a small table in the living room, busy making plans for the upcoming birthday, while Geralt, Triss and King Stephen lounged on a chaise at one corner of the room, discussing matters of the kingdom's defense and security, and Lambert and Vesemir knelt on the floor on the other side of the room, with Ciri sitting between them, playing with her plush handwoven silk rag-dolls and woolen animals.

"A-ppah!"

Jaskier turned to look at his baby girl, and Ciri threw him a huge toothless grin, the corners of her bright blue eyes crinkling, as she held up her toy elephant, its trunk partially mangled and nearly torn off in order to sate her curiosity about the internal anatomy of her toy. "Beautiful, my love!", he said, unable to help his fond chuckle as she brandished the elephant, clearly wanting him to come play with her. 

"This can wait", said Eskel, looking at his niece with an indulgent smile of his own, "Go play with her - she will be mad at us otherwise." Yen agreed with a nod.

"A-ddah?!"

"Yes, my love?"

"Seems like she wants both of her fathers, son", said the king, shaking his head fondly at his grandchild, "Go ahead, Geralt - these boring, soporific discourses can wait."

The two lovers stood up from their seats, and made to walk closer to their baby girl ...

_... only to be greeted by the sight of said baby girl slowly but surely rising to her feet, her frame swaying a bit back and forth as she tried to balance herself on her legs !_

"Oh my goodness!", Lambert yelped, his hands shooting out on either side of the gently rocking child who looked up at her fathers with a smile that could have outshone the sun itself. A heartbeat later, Vesemir's hands shot out as well, mirroring Lambert's movement, and the Old Wolf looked at his granddaughter with tears in his eyes.

"Geralt, son, she is ... she is ..."

"Yes, she is, Da!", Geralt's voice came out in an awed whisper, even as Jaskier sniffled quietly next to him, unable to repress the swell of emotions. The White Wolf reached out and clasped his Beloved's hand warmly in his, pulling him closer to himself as he tried to savour this priceless moment of their lives together.

Ciri began waddling forward, a bit hesitantly at first but confidence growing with each step she took with her wobbly feet, Vesemir and Lambert keeping their hands hovering around her, ready to catch her at the slightest indication that she might falter, while Geralt and Jaskier crouched down side by side, their arms extended in front, welcoming their baby girl, urging her forward. Yen, Triss, Eskel and King Stephen came to stand behind them, their faces portraying unprecedented joy and anticipation as they watched every move of their beloved child with rapt attention.

"Come on, sweetie! You can do it! Come to our arms, my darling flower!", Jaskier called out, his voice breaking a bit as tears ran down his eyes.

"Come, love, come to us! My sweet baby girl! My sweet Ciri!", Geralt encouraged, his expression mirroring Jaskier's.

And Ciri tottered forward, faster and faster, hands held out and giggles erupting from her, and fell straight into her Pa's and Da's waiting arms. 

*************************************************************************************

Ciri's birthday dawned bright and fair, and the two excited, exuberant fathers launched themselves into their self-appointed roles as decorators of the interiors of their suite. When Eskel and Lambert arrived, they found Geralt and Jaskier sitting on the floor, busily cutting coloured papers with scissors and making origami and other pretty patterns out of them, while Triss and Yen sat on the bed with Ciri between them, distracting her with dolls and toys and stories. "Need a hand?", Eskel asked the duo fashioning streamers, stars and moons from the brightly hued, glossy papers, and at a silent nod from the White Wolf, his two Witcher brothers sat down next to them and began emulating their techniques. It took them well past mid-morning to finish preparing and hanging the handmade decorations all around the rooms, and adorning the walls and the ceilings with skillfully crafted colourful lanterns that dangled from hooks and pegs. 

"Alright, everyone, we need to get going if we want to finish baking and garnishing the cake in time!", urged Jaskier, clapping his hands, and everyone enthusiastically started making their way to the pantry where the three grandparents had already gathered, Ciri balanced on Geralt's hip.

The cake turned out to be utterly marvelous, no matter how ridiculous its makers looked like once they were done with it.

Geralt's and Yen's hairs were frizzy and flecked with smatterings of icing, while Jaskier's shirt bore stains of jam and frosting, and all three of them looked like they had been doused in flour and then only partially dusted. Everyone except Ciri tried their hardest to keep straight faces, but Ciri had no such inhibitions. She openly giggled at her fathers' and aunt's unkempt, icing-splattered hair and ruined clothing, and the three of them sent her mock-scowls.

"Of course you'll laugh, you little minx!", muttered Yen, scooping up the child who had been sitting a moment ago in Lambert's lap, covering her face in kisses and burrowing into her little tummy, making Ciri giggle even more uncontrollably, "It's all for _you_ , you naughty little baby bear!"

Each of the nine closest family members of Ciri contributed to the adornment of the cake by painting something of their choice on it, using the cream cheese frosting that Geralt and Jaskier had prepared (and Yen had magically added edible colours to) and then heaped into several fine-nozzled piping bags. Triss painted a wonderful, many-rayed, silver star, King Stephen a brilliant golden sun, Queen Parveen the smiling face of a happy baby girl, Lambert a chubby baby bear, Yen a long-eared, beautiful white fluffy rabbit, Eskel a proud and gorgeous swan, Vesemir a stunning blue iris with a dazzling, iridescent butterfly perched on top of it.

_And while Jaskier's deft hands brought forth, at the stark centre of the cake, the perfect depiction of a proud white wolf, its face raised to the moon as it howled, its mane fluttering in the wind, its eyes a glittering amber-gold ..._

_... Geralt's own nimble fingers surrounded the wolf with scores of golden-yellow dandelions and bright pink sweet-pea flowers, set amidst intricate green foliage, and finished the decorations off by adding an immaculate little ochre-yellow lute, complete with fine black strings, on the crest of the cake!_

*********************************************************************************************************

"Jaskier, Geralt, come in, my sons!", boomed King Stephen, gesturing to the two lovers who hovered close by the door to his study, looking dubiously at their three parents.

"You three are gathered here ...", began Jaskier.

"Looking suspiciously like you are up to something", finished Geralt, his eyes narrowing.

"Which is precisely why you two darling dolts of ours have been summoned", explained Vesemir, smiling innocently up at the two lovers.

"What's going on, Da?", the two intoned together.

"You are getting married. And soon. Enough is enough - Ciri's already one year old, and we mustn't wait any longer", announced the queen, daring her two sons to refuse.

Which none of them did. Instead, the prince and the Witcher promptly blushed identical shades of the deepest magenta imaginable.

"M-marriage?", croaked Jaskier stupidly, even as Geralt's eyes dipped down and a shy smile began playing on his lips.

"Marriage", confirmed the king, smirking at the two flushed and flabbergasted lovers.

"And Yen, Triss, Eskel and Lambert have graciously offered to take up all the responsibilities of arranging for the wedding rituals and celebrations", added the queen, wiggling her eyebrows and smiling cheekily up at Jaskier and Geralt.

"Shit!" - was the only response that escaped the duo's lips, at precisely the same moment. 

_This was a bad idea. Very, very bad idea._


	21. Wedding bells!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry for the very late update. Not only is it that I am going crazy with responsibilities at my recently reopened workplace, but also, I needed to rewrite this chapter twice, as I was not very happy with the previous two versions. I decided that I would add an epilogue after this, so this is not the last chapter, after all. I also always revise my chapters, but this time, I really do not have much patience thanks to my tiring schedule, so there may be mistakes. PLEASE FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT SAID MISTAKES IN THE COMMENTS (GRAMMATICAL TYPOS, SPELLING TYPOS). 
> 
> Please do also leave your comments about how you liked this chapter. I tried to describe the wedding ceremony in a manner that feels familiar to me. If you wish to know more about the clothes and flowers I mentioned in this chapter, please see my notes below :-)

"Yen, I really can't …", Geralt's voice was strained, his expression beseeching, "You and your accomplices have already made us wait such a long time. Please, can't I see him now?"

Yennefer smirked, but squeezed her best friend's hand in her own reassuringly. "They say patience is a virtue, and the rewards you reap are that much sweeter when you have yearned long enough for something. Delayed gratification, you know?"

"No, I don't know!", Geralt gritted his teeth, his expression now turning truly pained, "Three whole months! That's how long you made the two of us go without seeing each other to observe this outdated, stupid prenuptial custom! Do you know how _much_ I have missed him?"

"Oh, trust me, I have some idea", the sorceress rolled her eyes, "Jaskier was being utterly insufferable. Even while he was with Ciri - and she is one happy baby if I ever saw one - he seemed mournful. Forlorn, almost."

"Same here", quipped Eskel, "This one has been pining for his human like a doleful, disconsolate, lost little puppy", and Geralt glared at his brother.

"Do you blame us for missing each other so? Yen, where _is_ he? It's our wedding night - do you plan to keep us separated tonight as well?"

The sorceress scowled. "Don't be a dolt, Geralt. Everything we have done, is only to spice up the excitement and thrill for the two of you when you two finally get to hold each other."

Geralt couldn't argue with that. It was true that, following an age-old custom that had once been widely prevalent amongst both nobles and commoners but had long since become obsolete, Geralt and Jaskier had been made to stay apart from each other from the Wolf Moon (the full moon night of January) to the Pink Moon (the full moon night of April). They had had to take a pledge not to sneak out in order to meet with each other (although both knew full well it would have been impossible to hoodwink Triss and Yennefer and their magical wards). Ciri had spent her daytime hours with Geralt, and her nights with Jaskier, and had been perfectly alright (after the first few days of feeling confused) with the arrangement. 

No matter how much the two betrotheds complained and whined about being "tormented" by "evil sorceresses and Witcher brothers" (since this had been a grand connivance involving Yennefer, Triss, Eskel and Lambert, and while King Stephen and Vesemir had reluctantly given in to their plans, Queen Parveen - ever the one to indulge Yennefer in her whims - had acquiesced rather willingly), it was true that the time apart had allowed them to not only appreciate even more deeply and keenly how much they needed one another - how important and indispensable each was to the other - but also it had given them the opportunity to reflect on life post-wedding, on the many big and small ways it would change, and especially how Ciri's life would be impacted (since they would be dividing their year between Vengerberg and Kaer Morhen from now onward, and would likely opt to spend the summer months up in the mountain stronghold).

They also had had the time to prepare better for the wedding. The two pining lovers had immersed themselves in handcrafting gifts for one another (Geralt carving out an intricately patterned case of black walnut wood for Jaskier to keep his notebook, his quills and a few of his most precious books in, and Jaskier making an elaborate oil painting of the Kaer Morhen Valley, partially from imagination and partially from the descriptions provided by Geralt during their former conversations), in meticulously handpicking gifts for their in-laws, in contributing to the plans for the nuptial rituals and ceremonies, wedding attire and decorations and so on.

*****************************************************************

Their wedding had taken place in the early evening hours, right after the Pink Moon had risen in the sky like a giant glowing disc of silver-white light. 

Jaskier had been garbed in an outfit that had been tailored entirely on the basis of detailed descriptions from Geralt, and likewise, Geralt had donned a wedding costume that had been designed solely under Jaskier's careful directions. And everyone present at the ceremony had been beyond impressed by how ravishingly accoutered the two grooms had appeared.

Jaskier had sported an exquisite sherwani woven from the finest, softest muslin, in a cream-white hue with the palest gold sheen to it, and with intricate chikan floral patterns hand-embroidered all over its surface in thread of silver-white, deep-gold and amber-orange exactly the shade of Geralt's eyes. The hems and wrists of the sherwani had been sewn with strings of lustrous gold and white pearls, and its buttons had been fashioned out of imperial topazes. His close-fitting salwar had been woven out of equally soft and comfortable muslin of the purest white, and it had bunched down in bangle-like folds close to the prince's ankles. 

Geralt had appeared breathtaking (certainly to Jaskier, and probably to others as well) in the splendidly tailored, snug sherwani - this one woven out of deep cornflower-blue silk that was precisely the shade of Jaskier's orbs, and chikan-embroidered in threads of navy blue. It had accentuated the muscles of his sculpted chest and his broad shoulders and biceps incredibly well, and Jaskier had particularly admired the way Eskel (who had an eye for such things and Geralt absolutely did not) had helped roll up the full-sleeves of the sherwani up to a little beneath the elbows, exposing the strong arms partially. Eskel had also taken care to leave the top couple of buttons of the sherwani, fashioned out of brilliantly faceted, sparkling diamonds, open, and the lapels slightly parted - allowing a tantalizing peek at the tips of Geralt's collarbones. The figure-hugging midnight-blue muslin salwar had emphasized his toned hips and calf-muscles, and Jaskier had tried very hard not to ogle his soon-to-be husband.

Jaskier's eyes had looked even bigger - the cornflower-blue of their irises even more enhanced - by the elegance with which Yennefer's deft fingers had lined them with kohl. Geralt had stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed at his Beloved's lips - the plump pomegranate lips had looked maddeningly enticing from the touch of crimson bestowed upon it by soaked and crushed rose petals. The same hint of crimson had also coloured Jaskier's cheeks, making him positively glow. Geralt had felt weak in the knees at how Jaskier's eyes had glittered with joy and mirth and love and longing, how his face had readily split into a beaming smile at the sight of Geralt stepping through the doorway to the main hall of the palace. Jaskier had looked irresistibly alluring - _like a sprightly male wood-nymph_ , Geralt had felt - in the circlet of deep-scarlet cypress vines and vibrant orange flame-of-the-forest blossoms that had been placed on his head, contrasting beautifully with the deep chestnut-brown of his silken hair. 

Geralt's eyes had been similarly lined in kohl, and a pale rose rouge had been applied to his cheeks and lips as well, making his regal features even more pronounced and captivating. His snowy white tresses had been brushed until they shimmered like gossamer strands, and cascaded down on either side of his face, framing it beautifully, while a delicate hairclip studded with vivid blue lapis lazuli had held together a elegant, flowing ponytail at the back of his head. A short, half-wreath of gorgeous white and heavily fragrant cape jasmines and radiant blue delphiniums sat like a crown on his head, making him look impossibly majestic and angelic at the same time. 

Ciri, dressed in a prim silk dancing frock of rich plum-purple with gauzy frills and white pearls sewn into its bodice, her curly black hair lovingly braided by Triss with glossy white ribbons, had arrived perched daintily in Jaskier's arms, absolutely refusing anyone else, including her favourite Aunt Yen, the honour of carrying her to the central dais in the main hall which had been canopied in silken drapes of a myriad hues and prepped and adorned for the wedding rituals. 

As soon as she had sighted her Dada on the other side of the dais, though, the baby girl had absolutely demanded that she be held by her Papa _and_ her Dada, and everybody had had to cave right in to her very vocal insistence. In a few minutes, the two grooms had seated themselves side by side on the dais, their little girl nestled in between them and each supporting her with a hand on her back, while Nenneke, the eldest and most venerated priestess of the Temple of Melitele in Ellander, had seated herself in front of them to perform the nuptial rites. She had been invited to preside over the wedding and to sanctify the wedding vows by Yennefer, who had once trained under the aged, grey-haired, motherly priestess and had remained one of her most favourite students. Vesemir, King Stephen and Queen Parveen had seated themselves on either side of Nenneke, and Yennefer, Triss, Eskel and Lambert, along with Gweld and Gwen - two young Witchers who were very close to Geralt - had stood reverently a little distance behind them.

The ceremony itself had been quite simple and short. Nenneke had begun with offering up a simple prayer to the goddess Melitele, seeking for her blessings to be bestowed upon the two Beloveds, making the beginning of their journeys together in this life auspicious. She had then asked for Geralt and Jaskier to hold out their hands. Geralt had picked up a curious Ciri and placed her in his lap (and she had immediately burrowed into his chest, making Nenneke chuckle fondly), and then he had extended his right hand forward, and Jaskier his left. The priestess had placed Jaskier's hand on top of Geralt's, and the two lovers had simultaneously shivered at the touch, their hearts beating faster. They had missed each other sorely the past three months, and it had been remarkably hard to restrain themselves from leaning into each other, from falling into one another's arms and kissing deeply right then and there. Geralt had clasped Jaskier's hand from below and squeezed it as surreptitiously as he could, and Jaskier in turn had subtly caressed Geralt's palm with his fingertips (but if the barely audible sniggers from Yen, Triss, Eskel and Lambert were anything to go by, these actions had not really gone unnoticed).

Nenneke had placed her own hand on top of Jaskier's, and had uttered more prayers to Melitele and other deities in a deep, sonorous voice, and then pressed some holy flowers onto Jaskier's palm (which the two grooms were supposed to press and preserve for a year from the commencement of the first day of their wedded life, and then set afloat in the River Pontar, or in the ocean). She had then taken hold of their hands in her own, and looking each straight in the eye, asked:

"Do you, Geralt of Rivia, son of Vesemir, Lord Wolf of Kaer Morhen, solemnly commit yourself to being Husband Beloved to this man, Julian Alfred Pankratz, son of Queen Parveen and King Stephen of Vengerberg, until the day you are no more? To cherish and to love, to have and to hold, to worship and to treasure with your entire being? To be unfailingly loyal, honest and truthful, to trust and to confide in, to live your life this day forth hand in hand, side by side, with him?"

Geralt's eyes had burned with earnest sincerity and fierce intensity of love and adoration as he had turned from Nenneke, looked into Jaskier's wide blue eyes, and said, every syllable true and clear and ringing through the hall, "I do. I receive with my heart humbled and honoured the responsibility of being Julian's husband, from this day onward, until the day my mortal body turns to ashes and my soul becomes one with the stars."

Jaskier had blushed, his eyes brimming with tears as he had lapped up every single word leaving Geralt's lips, his own lips wobbling, his frame tilting sideways into his husband's warm presence of its own accord. All three parents had stared wide-eyed at Geralt, their expressions reflecting astonished joy and pride, while behind them, Yennefer had whispered "Have you ever heard him this eloquent?" and Lambert had grunted, "That's twice the number of words he has ever spoken in a single sentence to us - that bastard!" (but he had immediately shut his mouth and looked properly abashed once Nenneke had thrown him a look over her shoulder).

"So be it", the priestess had declared, before turning her keen gaze upon Jaskier.

"Do you, Julian Alfred Pankratz, son of Queen Parveen and King Stephen of Vengerberg, solemnly commit yourself to being Husband Beloved to this man, Geralt of Rivia, son of Vesemir, Lord Wolf of Kaer Morhen, until the day you are no more? To cherish and to love, to have and to hold, to worship and to treasure with your entire being? To be unfailingly loyal, honest and truthful, to trust and to confide in, to live your life this day forth hand in hand, side by side, with him?"

Eyes still shining wetly with unshed tears, Jaskier had swallowed past the lump in his threat, taken Geralt's rough, calloused right hand in both of his own, and holding onto it as if it was his lifeline, he had said a breathy but no less audible "Yes. Yes I do. I am his. Forevermore. I am humbled and honoured and so blessed to belong with him. Belong to him."

And that had been the last straw.

With something that sounded like a barely repressed strangled sob, Geralt had opened his arms wide and Jaskier had practically dove in, his face burying itself into his White Wolf's shoulder and one hand clutching the back of Geralt's sherwani, while his other hand had come to rest atop Geralt's own where it had been anchoring Ciri's little body to his wide chest.

And Ciri, with a thrilled, happy giggle, had promptly placed her tiny hands on top of those of her fathers, her fingers locking around them, sealing with a more enduring finality than any uttered oaths the bond that was to hold together their little family for the rest of their lives.

"Very well then. Geralt and Jaskier - in what authority is vested in me, I pronounce you two Husbands Beloved from this moment onward", Nenneke had declared, her voice commanding and reverberating through the hall, before deafening applause and cheers from the onlookers and attendees had all but drowned out her voice.

*****************************************************************

After the nuptial, everyone had headed towards the common dining hall, where an elaborate, scrumptious feast had been arranged. As traditions decreed, Vesemir had sat Jaskier down next to him and fed him a few morsels, while Queen Parveen and King Stephen had done the same for Geralt - each officially announcing the loving acceptance of their respective son-in-law into their family.

Jaskier and Geralt had then sat side by side, Ciri now dozing (she had already been fed by Yennefer) with her head on Geralt's shoulder, and they had fed each other spoonfuls of food, their eyes stealing soft glances up at each other from beneath their long eyelashes, shy smiles never leaving their lips.

*****************************************************************

Finally, once dinner was over, it was time for everyone else to retire for the night, and for Jaskier and Geralt to be ushered into their shared, giant bedroom (and to be locked in from the outside by their mischief-making best friends / adopted siblings, as was the norm for wedding nights) to officially begin what Yen had impishly termed _the fun night_.

But at this point, Triss had pried Jaskier's hand from Geralt's tight grasp, despite quiet but piteous protests from the prince and near-feral glares from the Witcher, and had whisked him off, with Geralt having absolutely no idea where and not being allowed to follow, surrounded as he was by several of his Witcher brothers (who were all hand in glove with Yennefer, Triss, Eskel and Lambert in their evil plans to make the wedded couple even more restless and impatient for each other).

"Yen, please!", Geralt's tone was imploring as he allowed himself to be steered by Yennefer down corridors of the palace, "Where are we going? I was told our … our bedroom is ... it's not in this wing", he stammered a bit as his cheeks coloured, and Eskel and Lambert sniggered behind him, knowing full well that despite his earlier eloquence in expressing his love and gratitude towards Jaskier and his family, the White Wolf was hardly comfortable with openly speaking about his anticipations for the wedding night to anyone except his darling husband.

"Whoever said anything about a bedroom? At least, anything about a bedroom _inside_ the palace?", Yen's tone was wrapped in enigma as she smirked and kept tugging at her best friend's hand, leading him down a rather dark hallway that seemed seldom traversed by even the servants of the palace.

"Yennefer, what on ea--", Geralt's exasperated growl was cut short as they stepped through a narrow set of oak doors into a room that seemed partially illuminated by a deep, glaring blue light that failed to chase away the looming, dark shadows on the wall. The blue light seemed to emanate from a small spherical source that seemed to pulsate, making the light flicker oddly. Geralt blinked rapidly against the weird glare, before spotting Triss standing next to the light-source, looking utterly calm. He squinted at her, brows furrowing.

"Where's my Jaskier?"

"Goodness Geralt, he is my friend too, you know", Triss sounded hurt, and Geralt immediately felt guilt gnaw at him, "I won't let any harm come to him. Relax."

Geralt did relax infinitesimally at that, but his patience had worn thin, and his heart ached for his Beloved. "I'm sorry, Triss. I just ... I miss him."

Yennefer pulled him into a hug. "We know, dearest friend, we know. And you are about to see him and be with him very, very soon. I promise. All you have to do now is find him." 

"Find him?", Geralt sounded completely nonplussed, "Yen, what do you mean?"

"Here, kiss her goodnight. But don't wake her. She will be in our care tonight, so you two have the entire time to yourselves", said Eskel, gesturing towards the now fast asleep Cirilla in his arms.

"Eskel ..."

"Please, trust us, Geralt."

The White Wolf sighed, then leaning forward, pressed kisses to his little girl's bulging cheek and temple. Ciri stirred, and mumbled a muffled "Dada" in her sleep, but did not wake up.

"Alright, Geralt. Wherever you are about to find yourself, know that you and Jask are completely safe, and Triss and I are going to stay alert and continually supervise and reinforce our magical wards. So please, do not worry, and try to enjoy yourselves to the fullest. We shall bring you two back here tomorrow morning, just before breakfast. Just remember - you have to find Jaskier."

"Yen, what --"

The light went out.

Geralt stood transfixed in the pitch darkness, his breaths coming heavy, his heart suddenly racing a bit in both anticipation and anxiety. He had no idea about the plans hatched by his friends and brothers, and he had no idea where Yen and Triss had teleported him off to. His sharper-than-human amber eyes took a few moments to acclimatize themselves to the sable darkness all around him, and he realized that he was, in fact, in the middle of a forest. Or at the very least, a pretty dense copse of trees.

Geralt peered through the gloom, trying to see past the innumerable tree trunks of mighty girth that stood like pillars of impenetrable blackness. He shuffled his feet and found, to his relief, that the forest floor seemed relatively clear - if he had to run to Jaskier's aid, he would not be hindered by the underbrush, at least. 

He took a tentative step forward, then another, and soon he was trekking through the woods, his eyes sweeping over the landscape trying to locate any hint of Jaskier.

"Geralt!"

He skidded to a stop, his heart hammering against his ribcage. 

_What the heck was that?_

There had been a faint whisper on the breeze that was blowing through the woods in occasional mellow gusts, stirring the leaves and fluttering Geralt's milk-white strands of hair. And the whisper had called his name - he was sure of it.

_He was also relatively certain the disembodied voice belonged to his husband._

Geralt's medallion rested against the bare skin of his chest, tucked underneath his sherwani and hidden from view. The metal felt cold, and the medallion remained completely stationary - no hum of vibration, no rise in temperature to warn him of impending danger (at least, no threat that was born of monsters or magic). Then what the heck was that?

"Geralt!"

There it was, again!

"You need to wish harder."

_What?_

"You must wish more fervently to find me, Beloved."

Geralt realized that a very slight tremor had begun to take hold of his rigid frame.

_So that was what those dastardly mischief-makers had been up to! To recreate the setting for one of the Continent's most ancient wedding customs that used to be followed by the High Elves!_

_The Wish and the Chase!_

But the Wish and the Chase could not be staged without the knowledge of precisely one of the partners. 

_Which meant ..._

_Oh Jaskier!_

_Wait till I find you, you little minx!_

_I absolutely cannot wait to make you pay, husband dearest!_

"Yup, that's right! Now wish! Let your heart not wander elsewhere - let it focus all its yearning and all its longing on the sole intent of finding me, Husband Beloved!"

"Oh Jaskier, how I shall make you regret keeping this secret from me, my love!", Geralt breathed, but his lips quirked up in a smile and his eyes crinkled in mirth, "My evil little Beloved!"

"Then what are you waiting for, Beloved?"

Geralt inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. He focused his entire mind on a single pinpoint - Jaskier. And when he opened his eyes a minute later ...

_There stood Jaskier, haloed in a faint white light, his smile dazzling and his eyes full of love and longing._

"Catch me, Geralt!"

Jaskier whirled around, and sprinted away.

"JASKIER!"

The call tore itself out of Geralt's chest, as the Wolf watched with incredulous eyes the rapidly receding figure of his Beloved. Then, with a battle cry that was all thrill and exhilaration, the Witcher sprang forward, leaping like a gazelle, flitting from one tree to another, and gave chase at the fastest pace he could muster. Like an arrow loosed from a tautened bow he flew, deeper and deeper into the forest, but despite his superhuman stamina, Jaskier stayed ahead of him (though the distance between them considerably lessened, Geralt noted with satisfaction).

He had not an iota of doubt in his mind that Jaskier's increased speed and agility was a result of Yennefer or Triss (or both) imbuing him with magic. Interestingly, where there had initially been unyielding, inky darkness, Jaskier's flight etched a trail illuminated by a eerily glimmering white-and-blue light, making it easier for Geralt to pursue him. Geralt felt sweat dripping from his forehead, down his face, soaking through the nearly translucent fabric of his sherwani. But despite this, and despite the grueling pace he had set for himself, he felt barely any weariness at all, and he briefly wondered if this too was the effect of some complex magical spell cast by the sorceresses.

At last, Jaskier burst through the outermost ring of trees, Geralt following close behind. And both of their feet skidded to a momentary halt as the couple gawked at the scene that stretched out in front of their eyes.

A sprawling landscape of trimmed fields and grasslands stretched out in front of them, as far as their eyes could see. The moon sat like an enormous saucer a good distance above the horizon, the blemishes on its surface barely visible in the effulgence of moonlight. Moonbeams drenched the entire landscape, making every blade of grass visible to the bare eye, glittering like molten silver as they lit up the hurrying waters of a crystal-clear stream that meandered through the grasslands like a gossamer ribbon, evidently originating from some mountain spring up in the mountains whose jagged peaks stood like dark smudges against the sky to their right, the moonlight reflecting off their coldly gleaming rocks.

It was ethereal.

Jaskier seemed to be holding his breath as he surveyed his surroundings with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Wow!"

"Indeed!", concurred Geralt, thoroughly impressed with Yennefer and Triss.

Jaskier turned around to look at Geralt, the radiant joy of his smile slamming into Geralt's poor heart.

"Catch me before I reach that stream, Beloved?"

Geralt stood silent for a few seconds, his eyes memorizing every edge and curve and plane of Jaskier's beautiful, beautiful face as the prince stood partially silhouetted and partially bathed in moonlight, his heart welling up with love so intense he thought it would burst at the seams.

"Your wish is my command, Beloved."

Jaskier threw back his head and let out a trilling laugh. Then, quick as a startled baby deer, he ran off, zigzagging through the beds of grass, and Geralt resumed his sprint, intent on his prey - his reward, his husband.

Faster and faster they both ran, Geralt coming within inches of catching the fluttering back-hem of Jaskier's sherwani, but Jaskier somehow always managing to give him the slip at the last moment. Pants and laughter filled the air, and the couple ran pell-mell, Geralt growing more and more restive as Jaskier threw him cheeky smiles over his shoulder and as the stream drew closer and closer to them.

At last, desperate, the White Wolf summoned every last ounce of his strength and lunged forward, his arms closing around Jaskier's slender waist.

The prince let out a shrill, exuberant cry.

Which turned into one of alarm as it became clear that the two of them were toppling face forward into the ground, and they were too late to stop it, careening forward with the force of their combined momentum.

Lightning-fast, Geralt flipped their bodies around, and the next second, his back collided with the ground with a dull thud, Jaskier landing in a heap on top of him.

"Geralt! Beloved! Beloved, are you okay?", Jaskier's voice sounded high-pitched and steeped in panic and concern as he immediately shuffled to a sitting position next to Geralt's prone form, and shook the Wolf by his shoulders.

Geralt's eyes remained resolutely closed.

"Geralt! No! Please! What happened? Did he hit his head? Melitele, please ..."

Tears spilled from his eyes as Jaskier frantically lifted Geralt's head and gingerly placed it in his own lap, his palm caressing the hair at the back of the Wolf's head, then coming out clean - no trace of blood. 

"Beloved! Please! Please, wake up!"

The teardrops now dripped down onto Geralt's upturned face. And Geralt, unable to lie there pretending to have fainted any longer given how distressed and scared Jaskier sounded, opened his eyes and smiled up at his husband.

"I'm alright, sweetheart!", he said softly, placing his hand on top of Jaskier's own where it cupped his face.

"Geralt! Baby!", and Jaskier, instead of being annoyed and mad at Geralt for nearly giving him a heart attack, swooped down to capture the Wolf's lips in his.

They kissed deeply, Jaskier's body gradually leaning forward until he lay on his side on the dew-soaked grass, his hands tangling through Geralt's tresses and tugging them slightly, and Geralt turned on his side as well and held Jaskier close, encircling him with his arms and cocooning him in the confines of his chest. Their lips moved in tandem, tongues exploring each other's mouth, eyes closed, heavy breaths mingling, hearts beating thunderously. 

They moaned in abandon, savouring each other's taste, for they had sorely missed one another the past three months, and they had not had much of a chance of being truly intimate for more than a few minutes at a time since the birth of Ciri. Not that they had ever felt anything but joy and gratitude at the little girl's near constant presence in their room, wanting nothing more than to shower her with as much love and affection and nourishment as possible. They had felt nothing but familial bliss as they had basked in the proximity of their darling child and their closest friends and family who had proved crucial in their support in bringing up Cirilla. They had gone to bed at night exhausted (when Geralt had not been out patrolling the peripheries of the kingdom, which he did every alternate night), Ciri sleeping in the crib next to them. The baby girl had woken up often through the night, demanding to be breastfed or to be changed out of her soiled clothes or simply to be held. And Geralt and Jaskier had complied with her every wish with fond smiles plastered on their faces, no matter how tired they had felt.

All the duties of being new and rather inexperienced parents to a darling little baby had prevented them from doing anything much more intimate than stealing quick kisses or holding hands and hugging.

_No wonder they felt so eager, so desperate now. Their bodies thrummed in anticipation, yearned to become one with each other._

"Jasky!", Geralt rasped once their lips parted reluctantly, his husky voice sending shivers down Jaskier's spine, "It's our wedding night, Husband mine!"

"So it is, dear heart!", Jaskier said, still breathless from the kiss, his eyes now brimmed with lust, "Shall we ...", he gestured to their clothes.

Geralt nodded, then his nimble fingers were on Jaskier, tugging up his sherwani and pulling it over his head. Jaskier made equally short work of Geralt's sweat-drenched sherwani. The two then divested themselves of their salwars, until they stood in their smallclothes.

Never breaking contact with Jaskier's eyes, Geralt let his fingers brush over the rim of his husband's loincloth. His fingers raised goosebumps on Jaskier's waist and belly, before slipping down to gently cup the prince's semi-hard cock. Jaskier moaned, eyes closing as Geralt softly palmed his balls. 

"Please, baby ...", his voice sounded breathy. 

With a swift, unhesitant tug, Geralt undid the cord that held together the loincloth, and it slipped down and pooled around Jaskier's feet. 

And the next moment, Jaskier let out a whimper as he felt Geralt's soft, wet lips envelop around the throbbing head of his cock, hot breath ghosting on the velvet-smooth skin of his shaft.

"Baby..."

Geralt took Jaskier's right hand and placed it on his shoulder, and he guided Jaskier's left to clutch the hair at the back of his head. Placing a soft, sweet kiss to the glistening tip of Jaskier's cock, he looked up.

"Guide me, Husband?"

Jaskier, who was staring down at Geralt kneeling in front of him like he were the most precious, most priceless thing in the world, gulped and nodded. And with that, Geralt began to suck. 

His Adam's apple bobbed as he took Jaskier in his mouth, his skilled lips sucking as he sank all the way to the root, the tip of the cock tickling the back of his throat. His large hands simultaneously massaged Jaskier's balls, while the prince kept a gentle hold on his husband's head, finding that he really did not need to guide Geralt, for the Witcher seemed to know exactly what would please his human. The prince threw back his head, his eyes closed, moans escaping his lips.

"Geralt, please, I ...", Jaskier licked his lips, "I don't want to come like this."

Geralt stopped, and looked up, smiling.

"Then perhaps inside me?"

Jaskier stared open-mouthed at Geralt.

"You want _me_ to ... instead of ... _you_ ..."

"Yes. Why not?", came the simple reply, warming the prince's already love-soaked heart.

"And afterwards, you will ..."

"Yes. That too", stated Geralt without any fuss, his tone honest and open, his fingers softly caressing Jaskier's sides.

Soon, they found themselves sprawled on the grass, Jaskier on his back, Geralt propped on his elbow next to him. 

Jaskier pulled Geralt's face down to snatch his lips in a passionate kiss. He nibbled on Geralt's lower lip, eliciting a moan from his Witcher. Jaskier's soft fingers brushed down Geralt's chest, lingering to rub the pad of his thumb on a nipple, making Geralt hiss. Slowly, the deft fingers worked the stub until the nipple stood erect and over-sensitized. Geralt moaned loudly. Jaskier's hand strayed further down, and soon enough, he had pulled Geralt's loincloth down, coaxing out his half-hardened cock, and his fingers began playing with it, smearing the leaking precum on its tip. He felt an onslaught of love and lust surge through him as he felt Geralt go all pliant under his touch, his moans and gasps coming louder.

Geralt moved to straddle Jaskier's hips. "Is this okay, Jasky? I don't wish to cause any discomfort ..."

Jaskier giggled and smoothed away the concerned frown from Geralt's forehead. "I am fiiiine ... stop worrying about me, my silly husband, and let's make love."

In a few more minutes, Geralt lay on top of Jaskier, his body already slick with sweat, shuddering and writhing as he felt Jaskier slip a third finger inside him, stretching him further. His arms grasped Jaskier's shoulder as he buried his face into the crook of his husband's neck, his breaths scorching the skin on Jaskier's chest.

Jaskier had a hand splayed possessively on Geralt's back, and he shushed the trembling Witcher. "Relax, my love. Let me take care of you", he soothed, placing kisses on Geralt's crown. Geralt moaned in reply.

When Geralt was ready, he guided Jaskier's cock to his entrance, and ground his hips once to feel the friction of the cockhead against his eager opening. And without further ado, Jaskier slipped inside him, and Geralt's back arched involuntarily, his eyes falling closed and his mouth opening in a silent groan as he felt his human impale him, fill him up, his muscles clamping around Jaskier's impossibly warm, throbbing cock.

"Gosh, Geralt! Baby, you're so tight ...", Jaskier gasped breathlessly. Seeing Geralt wince a little bit as he tried to adjust to Jaskier inside him, the prince placed his hands on the Wolf's waist, rubbing soothing circles and whispering sweet nothings. 

Geralt set a lovely rhythm for themselves, his body slowly careening forward to meld itself with Jaskier's, the angle making the penetration even deeper. Their chests rose and fell in unison as Geralt held his human close in his arms, his eyes closed at how full he felt with his husband inside him. Jaskier, in turn, held Geralt tight in his arms, anchoring him, sucking hickies into the pale skin of the White Wolf's neck and shoulders. The air around them was filled with the sounds of wanton whimpers of pleasure and heavy panting, and Geralt couldn't help moaning into Jaskier's mouth as the prince stroked his hardened cock that was dripping precum onto the prince's belly.

The rhythm steadily increased, until Jaskier was all but slamming into Geralt and the White Wolf was crying out in abandon at the relentless assault on his prostrate, while at the same time Jaskier's fingers on his cock and Jaskier's lips on his neck, his chest, his nipples made his system go into a heated overdrive, unprecedented pleasure building up inside him, unimaginable warmth pooling in his stomach, his eyes seeing stars and his mind becoming dazed with pleasure and love. 

"Jasky! Baby, I am close..."

"Come for me, dear heart! Please! Come for me ..."

With a resounding shout, Geralt came undone, spilling himself copiously on Jaskier's stomach.

"No, don't slow down. Take your pleasure from me. Please, husband dearest."

And Jaskier could not say no to that pleading. He pounded into Geralt, the White Wolf whispering sweet words of love and desire into his ear, until with a cry he too came undone, his seeds filling Geralt to the core.

They lay there, their bodies still entwined and panting from the exertion, Jaskier's head cushioned next to Geralt's chest where the White Wolf had collapsed on his side next to the prince. They felt sated and in utter bliss, their hands caressing and softly scratching each other's backs.

***************************************************************************************************************************

"Let's go for a swim."

Those were the first words Jaskier spoke the moment he cracked his eyes open, after feeling a little rested from their first round of lovemaking. Geralt's amber orbs held his blue ones captive for a moment, and the Wolf smirked, brushing his lips on Jaskier's forehead.

"Let's."

They waded into the water, and Jaskier yelped as he realized it was rather cold. Geralt held his hand in a tight grasp, and the Witcher pulled the prince close to himself, enveloping him in a tight embrace, kissing the side of his neck.

"I wish I could make it warmer."

"No, this is good. I am so glad we are in the midst of Nature. Yen planned this well. The others too."

"They did, indeed", Geralt hummed, "Including Lambert not forgetting to pack a bottle of lube in your Sherwani's pocket." That made both of them chortle.

They stood for a while, submerged to their necks in the crystal-clear water of the stream, and kissed each other. They could really never have enough of each other, thought Geralt fondly, as Jaskier melted into the kiss.

Eventually, after several long minutes of swimming and splashing around in the water, throwing water at each other's heads, giggling maniacally and sharing countless more kisses, the couple decided to get out of the stream, though now that they thought of it, they really had no towels to dry themselves.

"Finally! Something that Miss Sorceress forgot", remarked Geralt.

"No!", Jaskier shook his head, a knowing glint in his eyes, "No she did not. She left it out on purpose. She knows how good it would feel if we make love like this, dripping wet."

Geralt felt his stomach do a backflip in anticipation.

"And this time, we reverse our roles", said Jaskier, his expression becoming soft and pliant and full of endless love and trust as he gazed up expectantly at his husband, who immediately stepped forward and took him in his arms, capturing his plump rosy lips in his own.

"Oh yes, my love."

And several minutes later, as Geralt felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into Jaskier, the prince whimpering in a surfeit of pleasure tinged with eagerly welcomed pain and writhing helplessly underneath Geralt, pinned by the weight of his husband on top of him, their wet bodies dappled by silver moonbeams, Geralt realized that Destiny had planned a "happily ever after" for him, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Sherwani: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sherwani (not to mention this looks similar to a Polish zupan, which is such a pleasant coincidence). You can see better images here: https://www.google.com/search?q=sherwani&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwj87uXqgZTsAhUkVXwKHSjxBN4Q2-cCegQIABAA&oq=sherwani&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzIECCMQJzIHCAAQsQMQQzIECAAQQzIFCAAQsQMyBQgAELEDMgUIABCxAzIFCAAQsQMyBQgAELEDMgIIADICCAA6BwgjEOoCECdQgB9Yk0FgzENoA3AAeASAAZ4DiAHVGpIBCTAuNC44LjEuMZgBAKABAaoBC2d3cy13aXotaW1nsAEKwAEB&sclient=img&ei=qR52X7z2DKSq8QOo4pPwDQ&bih=674&biw=1536 
> 
> 2) Salwar : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salwar (but the one I specifically meant here is actually called "churidar" - see here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Churidar)
> 
> 3) Cypress vines : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ipomoea_quamoclit (see image here: https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fimages-na.ssl-images-amazon.com%2Fimages%2FI%2F5132qgz2vSL.jpg&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.in%2F100-Seeds-Outsidepride-Cypress-Vine%2Fdp%2FB005LY4DXU&tbnid=yURr4ElJ6-MBDM&vet=12ahUKEwir7pGUgpTsAhVTGrcAHWk5CsIQMygBegUIARDdAQ..i&docid=D0mOtYhbr4SnIM&w=500&h=500&q=cypress%20vine&ved=2ahUKEwir7pGUgpTsAhVTGrcAHWk5CsIQMygBegUIARDdAQ)
> 
> 4) Flame of the forest flowers: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Butea_monosperma . See more images here: https://www.google.com/search?q=palash+flower&sxsrf=ALeKk02P6PGu7SAoOlgIM8rFTYtQPHo8Jw:1601576736282&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjF-MijgpTsAhXFX3wKHS3mCvoQ_AUoAXoECCQQAw&biw=1536&bih=674
> 
> 5) Cape jasmine: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gardenia_jasminoides . See more images here: https://www.google.com/search?q=cape+jasmine&sxsrf=ALeKk03-1gI9mWbVt1F0NiAWY1DoA5fi0w:1601576772976&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjCsYi1gpTsAhUEg-YKHZV_DB8Q_AUoAXoECCUQAw&biw=1536&bih=674&dpr=1.25 . I have this flower in my garden and it's stunning :-)


	22. Epilogue - the happily ever after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of this fanfiction :-) I wanted to give a glimpse into Geralt's and Jaskier's future, but wanted to keep it short and sweet. If you did give this fanfiction a read, I thank you for your patience and your interest, and would love it if you leave your comments / thoughts on it :-) Thank you all for being a part of this journey :-D

Jaskier stood leaning against the balustrade of the little balcony adjoining his shared bedchamber with Geralt, his eyes sweeping over the breathtaking panoramic landscape that stretched out in front of him. It was very, very high up, and often he would see tufts of clouds drifting past the oblong windows, sometimes reach out his fingers to feel the moisture dripping from them. Currently, the sky was clear, and the clouds even higher up above his head, and the sun streamed down to bathe the surrounding mountains, the courtyard meant for weapons training that his balcony overlooked, and the valley further below in a lovely pale golden light.

It was early spring, and they had arrived in Kaer Morhen the day before, Yennefer having opened up a portal for them. They had decided to spend the spring months in the mountain keep this time, instead of the summer months. 

"Pappa?", Ciri's voice called his name softly from behind him, and Jaskier turned around to find his three-and-a-half year old little girl tottering towards him, her hands holding up a piece of parchment bearing her diligent artwork - she had become engrossed with the oil pastels her Aunt Yen had gifted her on her last birthday. She rushed towards him, her face lit up in a dazzling smile, and Jaskier, feeling his heart soar, moved back into the bedroom and picked her up in his lap, showering kisses all over her face and making her giggle madly.

Just that moment, Geralt entered the bedroom, dripping sweat onto the rug underneath his feet. He had been training hard in the courtyard below with Lambert and Gweld, under the careful watch of Vesemir who still somehow managed to find flaws in his pups' fighting techniques and often intervened (and to this day, Jaskier had never once witnessed Geralt or any of his Witcher brothers succeed in besting the Old Wolf in a fight). Geralt winced as he felt the bruises that were surely blooming underneath his shirt, for he had taken quite a beating from Vesemir (as had the other two), and his muscles ached and his body felt utterly battered.

He longed for his husband. Longed for Jaskier's soft hands soothing away the ache everywhere.

"Look, Dada's here, baby!", Jaskier chirped excitedly, and Ciri beckoned to Geralt with her chubby hands, her voice rising in pitch, "Dada! Dadda! Come come come!"

And that was all that was needed to make all the weariness disappear instantly from Geralt's bones, and striding forward quickly, he scooped up his two beloved humans in his arms.

"My two precious darlings!", Geralt hummed, as he pressed a kiss onto each of Ciri's bulging baby cheeks and then nuzzled Jaskier, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in their embrace.

"Two?", Jaskier teased, wiggling his eyebrows, and Geralt rolled his eyes.

"Ciri darling?", a voice called from the doorway, and the three turned to find Eskel standing there, and Triss beside him, smiling, "Want to come play with us, baby?"

Cir's face broke into a sunny smile - she loved her Uncle Eskel and Aunt Triss, and Uncle Eskel usually had a knack for coming up with rather fun ideas for games that managed to keep the little girl engaged for hours, allowing some much-needed bonding time to her fathers.

"How do you feel, Triss?", Geralt asked, concern clear in his voice, but Triss beamed at him reassuringly.

"I'm fine", she said, voice confident, as her hand came to rest on her belly - she was five months pregnant with her and Eskel's first child, and it had been a year since the two tied the knot back in Vengerberg, "Baby's doing good. No more nausea, nor pain."

"I'm so relieved, Triss", Jaskier said, his voice clouded with anxiety despite his words, "Everyone was so worried."

"We know, Jask", Eskel reassured, "But you know what the best thing is? We are one big happy family, and we are all right here for each other. Triss and I have all the support we can ever ask for."

Triss nodded, even as Geralt transferred a happily babbling Ciri into Eskel's arms. The delighted little girl immediately began showing her doting uncle and aunt what she had drawn and scribbled in the piece of parchment in her hands.

"Jask, you be careful too", Triss said meaningfully, before they left.

Geralt closed the door, and turned back to his human.

"Take me to bed", Jaskier commanded without the slightest preamble, and Geralt smirked.

"Someone's horny! And don't you want me to take a bath first?", Geralt sniffed at his arms, then wrinkled his nose, "I think I smell revolting!"

"Well, should've known this was likely to happen before you put your second child in me", Jaskier rolled his eyes, bristling, "And no, I love your scent just as it is. With all that sweat and blood and gore. You're perfect just as you are, and I need you inside me. Now! So come here!"

He was six months along, and already quite heavy. Geralt and Vesemir had both asserted it was another little girl, and Geralt had been over the moon - he had always wanted daughters more than sons. The reason why the couple had chosen to spend the spring months in Kaer Morhen was because it would be easier to give birth in Vengerberg during summer, with a lot more people to provide all manners of help and support. 

Geralt chuckled. Stepping forward, he caught Jaskier's lips in an impassioned kiss, making the prince moan into his mouth. The Wolf's large, calloused palm came to rest on the swell of his husband's belly, massaging it gently.

"Please...", came the ardent plea, and without further ado, Geralt began peeling the clothes off Jaskier, who proceeded to do the same to Geralt.

They ended up in the large four-poster bed soon, Geralt ever careful to lay Jaskier down on his side and making sure he was absolutely comfortable, his head resting on a fluffed pillow. They had found that spooning was perhaps the best position for them - Jaskier usually tired out trying to ride him, and Geralt was loath to have his pregnant Beloved exert himself in the slightest.

Geralt left a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down the pale column of Jaskier's throat that the prince eagerly exposed to him, sucking and nibbling and pressing his tongue onto the skin, and the prince moaned in abandon and clutched onto his shoulders. Bringing himself further down, he kissed all over Jaskier's swollen breasts and suckled on his nipples, drawing out whimper after whimper from the helplessly writhing prince, until Jaskier was a trembling, quivering mess.

"Geralt! Geralt, please! I'm ready! I'm ready!"

Slipping his hand between Jaskier's thighs and finding the prince sopping wet, Geralt knew he wasn't lying. Prying those thighs apart gently, Geralt slipped his rock-hard, throbbing cock inside his husband, and Jaskier arched back as pleasure coursed through him, his mouth falling open in an unhesitant, wanton moan.

As usual, despite Jaskier imploring Geralt to move harder and faster and to slam into him, Geralt set a gentle rhythm, rocking their bodies together. The room was soon filled with soft pants and whimpers and moans full of a heady concoction of pleasure and sweet, sweet pain, Geralt's palm splayed possessively on Jaskier's belly, caressing the tautened skin.

It did not take long for either of them to come. Their mingled, giddy half-shout-half-groans signaled the moment when they simultaneously came undone, Geralt emptying himself fully into Jaskier, whose body gratefully accepted the seeds of his Beloved. 

They lay there for several moment, panting heavily, Jaskier feeling utterly sated and languid as his back stayed pressed flush against Geralt's sweat-slicked chest. Eventually, the Wolf raised himself on his elbow, and helping Jaskier turn around to face him, he began pressing tender, warm kisses to the prince's belly.

"My little one", he whispered against the skin, "My second child. My baby girl."

Jaskier felt a tendril of joy and love and anticipation and utter bliss shoot through him, and he cupped Geralt's face, pulling him up to press a soft kiss to his lips.

"My husband. The father of my children."

Soon, Jaskier's eyes slipped closed, and soft snores filled the room. Geralt tucked his human's head underneath his chin, and enveloped his body in his strong, burly arms. And then he too allowed himself to drift off into the realm of blissful sleep and loving, happy dreams.


End file.
